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B  ARRINGTON ; 

TALES    OF   THE    TRAINS. 


BY 


CHARLES   LEYER. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    PHIZ. 


B  O  S  T  O  X  : 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND    COMPANY 

1900. 


SEnibcrsttg  ^^rrss: 
John  Wilson  and  Sox,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapteb  Pag» 

I.  The  Fisherman's  Home 1 

n.  A  Wet  Morxing  at  Home 12 

TTT.  Our  next  Neighbors 23 

rV.  Fred  Conyers 42 

V.  Dill  as  a  Diplomatist 53 

VI.  The  Doctor's  Daughter 60 

VII.  Tom  Dill's  First  Patient 69 

Vin.  Fine  Acquaintances 83 

IX.  A  Country  Doctor 89 

X.  Being  "  Bored  " 98 

XI.  A  Note  to  be  Answered 107 

XII.  The  Answer 113 

XIII.  A  Few  Leaves  from  a  Blue-Book      ....  123 

XIV.  Barrington's  Ford 136 

XV.  An  Exploring  Expedition 149 

XVI.  Coming  Home 162 

XVn.  A  Shock 171 

XVIII.  COBHAM 184 

XIX.  The  Hour  of  Luncheon 198 

XX.  An  Interior  at  the  Doctor's 202 

XXL  Dark  Tidings 216 

XXII.  Leaving  Home 225 

XXIII.  The  Colonel's  Cot-nsels 235 

XXrV.  CONTTERS   MAKES   A   MORNING    CaLL 242 


193049 


vi  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  Pagb 

XXV.  Dublin  Revisited 256 

XXVI.  A  VEKY  Sad  Good-Bye 267 

XX VII.  TuE  Convent  on  tue  Meuse 275 

XXVIIL  George's  Daugiiteu 283 

XXIX.  The  Ramble 295 

XXX.  Under  the  Linden 305 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 
Volume  One. 


I£td)tng0. 

PAGE 

The  Fisherman's  Home Frontispiece 

Polly  Dill 64 

The  Major  "departs,"  but  not  in  "Peace"       .     .     .  218 

Illustratians  m  ti)£  (JTeit. 

Warm  Tea  and  Cold  Reception 29 

The  Accident 35 

Darby   feelingly    apologises    for    the    Scarcity   of 

Irish  Lions 47 

The  Problem 105 

Tom  Dill  in  his  Best 119 

Polly  Dill  takes  leave  of  Conyers 145 

Poaching 169 

Tom  Dill  at  his  Studies 181 

Master  and  Man's  Reflections  over  Old  Habits       .  227 

A  Useful  Hand 251 

A  Lecture 279 

The  Third  Volume 287 


OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


BARRINGTON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   fisherman's   HOME. 

If  there  should  be,  at  this  clay  we  live  in,  any  one  bold 
enough  to  confess  that  he  fished  the  river  Nore,  in  Ireland, 
some  forty  years  ago,  he  might  assist  me  by  calling  to  mind 
a  small  inn,  about  two  miles  from  the  confluence  of  that 
river  with  the  Barrow,  a  spot  in  great  favor  with  those  who 
followed  the  "gentle  craft." 

It  was  a  very  unpretending  hostel,  something  wherein  cot- 
tage and  farmhouse  were  blended,  and  only  recognizable  as 
a  place  of  entertainment  by  a  tin  trout  suspended  over  the 
doorway,  with  the  modest  inscription  underneath,  — "Fish- 
erman's Home."  Very  seldom  is  it,  indeed,  that  hotel 
pledges  are  as  honestly  fulfilled  as  they  were  in  this  simple 
announcement.  The  house  was,  in  all  that  quiet  comfort 
and  unostentatious  excellence  can  make,  a  veritable  Home! 
Standing  in  a  fine  old  orchard  of  pear  and  damson  trees,  it 
was  only  approachable  by  a  path  which  led  from  the  high- 
road, about  two  miles  off,  or  by  the  river,  which  wound 
round  the  little  grassy  promontory  beneath  the  cottage. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream  arose  cliffs  of  consider- 
able height,  their  terraced  sides  covered  with  larch  and  ash, 
around  whose  stems  the  holly,  the  laurel,  and  arbutus  grew 
in  a  wild  and  rich  profusion.  A  high  mountain,  rugged 
with  rock  and  precipice,  shut  in- the  picture,  and  gave  to  the 
river  all  the  semblance  of  a  narrow  lake. 

VOL.   I. —  1 


2  BARRINGTON. 

The  Home,  as  may  be  imagiued,  was  only  resorted  to  hy 
fishermeu,  aud  of  these  not  many;  for  the  chosen  few  who 
knew  the  spot,  with  the  churlishness  of  true  anglers,  were 
strenuously  careful  to  keep  the  secret  to  themselves.  But 
another  and  stronger  cause  contributed  to  this  seclusion. 
The  landlord  was  a  reduced  gentleman,  who,  only  anxious 
to  add  a  little  to  his  narrow  fortune,  would  not  have  accepted 
a  greater  prosperity  at  the  cost  of  more  publicity,  and  who 
probably  only  consented  to  his  occupation  on  finding  how 
scrupulously  his  guests  respected  his  position. 

Indeed,  it  was  only  on  leave-taking,  and  then  far  from 
painfully,  you  were  reminded  of  being  in  an  inn.  There 
was  no  noise,  no  bustle;  books,  magazines,  flowers,  lay 
about;  cupboards  lay  open,  with  all  their  cordials  free  to 
take.  You  might  dine  under  the  spreading  s^'camore  beside 
the  well,  and  have  your  dessert  for  the  plucking.  No  obse- 
quious waiter  shook  his  napkin  as  you  passed,  no  ringleted 
barmaid  crossed  your  musing  steps,  no  jingling  of  bells,  or 
discordant  cries,  or  high-voiced  remonstrances  disturbed 
you.  The  hum  of  the  summer  bee,  or  the  flapping  plash  of 
a  trout,  were  about  the  only  sounds  in  the  stillness,  and  all 
was  as  peaceful  and  as  calm  and  as  dreamy  as  the  most 
world-weary  could  have  wished  it. 

Of  those  who  frequented  the  spot,  some  merely  knew  that 
the  host  had  seen  better  days.  Others,  however,  were 
aware  that  Peter  Barrington  had  once  been  a  man  of  large 
fortune,  and  represented  his  county  in  the  Irish  Parliament. 
Though  not  eminent  as  a  politician,  he  was  one  of  the  great 
convivial  celebrities  of  a  time  that  boasted  of  Curran,  and 
Avanmore,  and  Parsons,  and  a  score  of  others,  any  one  of 
whom,  in  our  day,  would  have  made  a  society  famous. 
Barrington,  too,  was  the  almoner  of  the  monks  of  the  screw, 
and  "Peter's  pence"  was  immortalized  in  a  song  bj-  Ned 
Lysaght,  of  which  I  once  possessed,  but  have  lost  a  cop3\ 

One  might  imagine  there  could  be  no  difficulty  in  showing 
how  in  that  wild  period  of  riotous  living  and  costly  rivalry 
an  Irish  gentleman  ran  through  all  his  property  and  left 
himself  penniless.  It  was,  indeed,  a  time  of  utter  reckless- 
ness, many  seeming  possessed  of  that  devil-may-care  spirit 
that  drives  a  drowning  crew  to  break  open  the  spirit-room 


THE  FISHERMAN'S   HOME.  3 

and  go  down  in  an  orgie.  But  Barrington's  fortune  was  so 
large,  and  his  successes  on  the  turf  so  considerable,  that 
it  appeared  incredible,  when  his  estates  came  to  the  hammer, 
and  all  his  personal  property  was  sold  off;  so  complete  his 
ruin,  that,  as  he  said  himself,  the  "only  shelter  he  had  was 
an  umbrella,  and  even  that  he  borrowed  from  Dan  Driscoll, 
the  sheriff's  officer." 

Of  course  there  were  theories  In  plenty  to  account  for  the 
disaster,  and,  as  usual,  so  many  knew,  many  a  long  day 
ago,  how  hard  pressed  he  had  been  for  money,  and  what 
ruinous  interest  be  was  obliged  to  pay,  till  at  last  rumors 
filtered  all  down  to  one  channel,  and  the  world  agreed  that 
it  was  all  his  son's  doing,  and  that  the  scamp  George  had 
ruined  his  father.  This  son,  his  only  child,  had  gone  out  to 
India  in  a  cavalry  regiment,  and  was  celebrated  all  over  the 
East  for  a  costly  splendor  that  rivalled  the  great  Govern- 
ment officials.  From  every  retired  or  invalided  officer  who 
came  back  from  Bengal  were  heard  stories  of  mad  Barring- 
ton's  extravagance:  his  palace  on  the  Hooghl}',  his  racing 
stud,  his  elephants,  his  army  of  retainers,  —  all  nai'ratives 
which,  no  matter  in  what  spirit  retailed,  seemed  to  delight 
old  Peter,  who,  at  every  fresh  story  of  his  son's  spendthrift 
magnificence,  would  be  sure  to  toast  his  health  with  a  racy 
enthusiasm  whose  sincerity  was  not  to  be  doubted. 

Little  wonder  need  there  be  if  in  feeding  such  extrava- 
gance a  vast  estate  melted  away,  and  acre  followed  acre, 
till  all  that  remained  of  a  property  that  ranked  next  to  the 
Ormonds'  was  the  little  cottage  over  whose  door  the  tin 
trout  dangled,  and  the  few  roods  of  land  around  it:  sorry 
remnant  of  a  princely  fortune! 

But  Barrington  himself  had  a  passion,  which,  inordinately 
indulged,  has  brought  many  to  their  ruin.  He  was  intensely 
fond  of  law.  It  was  to  him  all  that  gambling  is  to  other 
men.  All  that  gamesters  feel  of  hope  and  fear,  all  the  in- 
tense excitement  they  derive  from  the  vacillating  fortunes 
of  play,  Barrington  enjoyed  in  a  lawsuit.  Every  step  of 
the  proceeding  had  for  him  an  intense  interest.  The 
driest  legal  documents,  musty  declarations,  demurrers, 
pleadings,  replies,  affidavits,  and  counter-affidavits  were 
his  choicest  reading;    and  never  did  a  young   lady  hurry 


4  BARRINGTON. 

to  her  room  with  the  last  new  novel  with  a  stronger 
anticipation  of  delight  than  did  Barrington  when  carrying 
away  to  his  little  snuggery  a  roll  of  parchments  or  rough 
drafts,  whose  very  iterations  and  jargon  would  have  driven 
most  men  half  crazy.  This  same  snuggei-y  of  his  was  a 
curiosity,  too,  the  walls  being  all  decorated  with  portraits 
of  legal  celebrities,  not  selected  with  reference  to  their  merit 
or  distinction,  but  solely  from  their  connection  with  some 
suit  in  which  he  had  been  engaged;  and  thus  under  the 
likeness  of  Chief  Baron  O'Grady  might  be  read,  ''Barring- 
ton  versus  Brazier,  1802;  a  juror  withdrawn:"  Justice 
Moore's  portrait  was  inscribed,  "Argument  in  Chambers, 
1808,"  and  so  on;  even  to  the  portraits  of  leading  counsel, 
all  were  marked  and  dated  only  as  they  figured  in  the  great 
campaign,  —  the  more  than  thirty  years'  war  he  carried  on 
against  Fortune. 

Let  not  my  reader  suppose  for  one  moment  that  this  liti- 
gious taste  grew  out  of  a  spirit  of  jarring  discontent  or 
distrust.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Barrington  was  merely  a 
gambler;  and  with  whatever  dissatisfaction  the  declaration 
may  be  met,  I  am  prepared  to  show  that  gambling,  however 
faulty  in  itself,  is  not  the  vice  of  cold,  selfish,  and  sordid 
men,  but  of  warm,  rash,  sometimes  over-generous  tempera- 
ments. Be  it  well  remembered  that  the  professional  play- 
man  is,  of  all  others,  the  one  who  has  least  of  a  gamester  in 
his  heart;  his  superiority  lying  in  the  simple  fact  that  his 
passions  are  never  engaged,  his  interest  never  stirred.  Oh! 
beware  of  yourself  in  company  with  the  polished  antagonist, 
who  only  smiles  when  he  loses,  whom  nothing  adverse  ever 
disturbs,  but  is  calmly  serene  under  the  most  pitiless  pelting 
of  luck.  To  come  back:  Barrington's  passion  for  law  was 
an  intense  thirst  for  a  certain  species  of  excitement ;  a  ver- 
dict was  to  him  the  odd  trick.  Let  him,  however,  but 
win  the  game,  there  never  Avas  a  man  so  indifferent  about 
the  stakes. 

For  many  a  year  back  he  had  ceased  to  follow  the  great 
events  of  the  world.  For  the  stupendous  changes  in  Europe 
he  cared  next  to  nothing.  He  scarcely  knew  who  reigned 
over  this  empire  or  that  kingdom.  Indifferent  to  art, 
science,  letters,  and  even  society,  his  interest  was  intense 


THE   FISHERMAN'S   HOME.  5 

about  all  that  went  on  in  the  law  courts,  and  it  was  an  in- 
terest so  catholic  that  it  took  in  everything  and  everybody, 
from  the  great  judge  upon  the  bench  to  the  small  taxiug- 
otlicer  who  nibbled  at  the  bill  of  costs. 

Fortunately  for  him,  his  sister,  a  maiden  lady  of  some 
eighteen  or  twenty  years  his  junior,  had  imbibed  nothing  of 
this  passion,  and,  by  her  prudent  opposition  to  it,  stemmed 
at  least  the  force  of  that  current  which  was  bearing  him  to 
ruin.  Miss  Dinah  Barrington  had  been  the  great  belle  of 
the  Irish  court,  —  I  am  ashamed  to  say  how  long  ago,  —  and 
though  at  the  period  my  tale  opens  there  was  not  much 
to  revive  the  impression,  her  high  nose,  and  full  blue  eyes, 
and  a  mass  of  wonderfully  unchanged  brown  hair,  pro- 
claimed her  to  be  —  what  she  was  very  proud  to  call  herself 
—  a  thorough  Barrington,  a  strong  type  of  a  frank  nature, 
with  a  bold,  resolute  will,  and  a  very  womanly  heart 
beneath  it. 

When  their  reverses  of  fortune  first  befell  them.  Miss 
Barrington  wished  to  emigrate.  She  thought  that  in  Canada, 
or  some  other  far-away  laud,  their  altered  condition  might 
be  borne  less  painfully,  and  that  they  could  more  easily 
bend  themselves  to  humble  offices  where  none  but  strangers 
were  to  look  on  them ;  but  Barrington  clung  to  his  country 
with  the  tenacity  of  an  old  captain  to  a  wreck.  He  declared 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  the  thought  of  leaving  his 
bones  in  a  strange  land,  but  he  never  confessed  what  he  felt 
to  be  the  strongest  tie  of  all,  two  unfinished  lawsuits,  the 
old  record  of  Barrington  r.  Brazier,  and  a  Privy  Council 
case  of  Barrington  and  Lot  Rammadahn  Mohr  against  the 
India  Company.  To  have  left  his  country  with  these  still 
undecided  seemed  to  him  —  like  the  act  of  a  commander 
taking  flight  on  the  morning  of  a  general  action  —  an 
amount  of  cowardice  he  could  not  contemplate.  Not  that  he 
confided  this  opinion  to  his  sister,  though  he  did  so  in  the 
very  fullest  manner  to  his  old  follower  and  servant.  Darby 
Cassan.  Darby  was  the  last  remnant  of  a  once  princely 
retinue,  and  in  his  master's  choice  of  him  to  accompany  his 
fallen  fortunes,  there  was  something  strangely  indicative  of 
the  man.  Had  Darby  been  an  old  butler  or  a  bodj'-servant, 
had  he  been  a  favorite  groom,  or,  in  some  other  capacity, 


6  BARRINGTON. 

one  whose  daily  duties  had  made  his  a  familiar  face,  and 
whose  functions  could  still  be  available  in  an  humble  state, 
there  would  have  seemed  good  reason  for  the  selection;  but 
Darby  was  none  of  these:  he  had  never  served  in  hall  or 
pantry;  he  had  never  brushed  the  cobweb  from  a  bottle,  or 
led  a  nag  to  the  door.  Of  all  human  professions  his  were 
about  the  last  that  could  address  themselves  to  the  cares  of 
a  little  household;  for  Darby  was  reared,  bred,  and  passed 
fifty-odd  years  of  his  life  as  an  earth-stopper! 

A  very  ingenious  German  writer  has  attempted  to  show 
that  the  sympathies  of  the  humble  classes  with  pursuits  far 
above  their  own  has  always  its  origin  in  something  of  their 
daily  life  and  habits,  just  as  the  sacristan  of  a  cathedral 
comes  to  be  occasionally  a  tolerable  art  critic  from  his  con- 
tinual reference  to  Rubens  and  Vandyck.  It  is  possible 
that  Darby  may  have  illustrated  the  theory,  and  that  his 
avocations  as  earth-stopper  may  have  suggested  what  he 
assuredly  possessed,  a  perfect  passion  for  law.  If  a  suit 
was  a  great  game  to  Barriugton,  to  Darby  it  was  a  hunt! 
and  though  his  personal  experiences  never  soared  beyond 
Quarter  Sessions,  he  gloried  in  all  he  saw  there  of  violence 
and  altercation,  of  vituperative  language  and  impassioned 
abuse.  Had  he  been  a  rich  man,  free  to  enjoy  his  leisure, 
he  would  have  passed  all  his  days  listening  to  these  hot  dis- 
cussions. They  were  to  him  a  sort  of  intellectual  bull-fight, 
which  never  could  be  too  bloody  or  too  cruel.  Have  I  said 
enough,  therefore,  to  show  the  secret  link  which  bound 
the  master  to  the  man  ?  I  hope  so ;  and  that  my  reader  is 
proud  of  a  confidence  with  which  Miss  Barriugton  herself 
was  never  intrusted.  She  believed  that  Darby  had  been 
taken  into  favor  from  some  marvellous  ability  he  was  sup- 
posed to  possess,  applicable  to  their  new  venture  as  inn- 
keepers. Phrenology  would  perhaps  have  pronounced  Darby 
a  heaven-born  host,  for  his  organ  of  acquisitiveness  was 
grandly  developed.  Amidst  that  great  household,  where 
the  thriftless  habits  of  the  master  had  descended  to  the  ser- 
vants, and  rendered  all  reckless  and  wasteful  alike.  Darby 
had  thriven  and  grown  almost  rich.  Was  it  that  the  Irish 
climate  used  its  influence  over  him;  for  in  his  practice  to 
"put  by  something  for  a  rainy  day,"  his  savings  had  many 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  HOME.  7 

promptings?  As  the  reputation  of  having  money  soon 
attached  to  him,  he  was  often  applied  to  in  the  hunting-field, 
or  at  the  kennel,  for  small  loans,  by  the  young  bloods  who 
frequented  the  Hall,  and,  being  always  repaid  three  or  four 
fold,  he  grew  to  have  a  very  high  conception  of  what  bank- 
ing must  be  when  done  on  a  large  scale.  Besides  all  this, 
he  quickly  learned  that  no  character  attracts  more  sympathy, 
especially  amongst  the  class  of  young  squires  and  sporting- 
men,  than  a  certain  quaint  simplicity,  so  flattering  in  its 
contrast  to  their  own  consummate  acuteness.  Now,  he  was 
simple  to  their  hearts'  content.  He  usually  spoke  of  himself 
as  "Poor  Darby,  God  help  him!"  and,  in  casting  up  those 
wonderful  accounts,  which  he  kept  by  notches  on  a  tally- 
stick,  nothing  was  more  amusing  than  to  witness  his  bewil- 
derment and  confusion,  the  inconceivable  blunders  he  would 
make,  even  to  his  own  disadvantage,  all  sure  to  end  at  last 
in  the  heart-spoken  confession  that  it  was  "clean  beyand 
him,"  and  "he  'd  leave  it  all  to  your  honor;  pay  just  what 
ye  plaze,  and  long  life  to  ye !  " 

Is  it  that  women  have  some  shrewd  perception  of  charac- 
ter denied  to  men?  Certaiul}^  Darby  never  imposed  on 
Miss  Barrington.  She  read  him  like  a  book,  and  he  felt  it. 
The  consequence  was  a  very  cordial  dislike,  which  strength- 
ened with  every  year  of  their  acquaintance. 

Though  Miss  Barrington  ever  believed  that  the  notion  of 
keeping  an  inn  originated  with  her  brother,  it  was  Darby 
first  conceived  the  project,  and,  indeed,  by  his  own  skill 
and  crafty  intelligence  was  it  carried  on;  and  while  the 
words  "Peter  Barrington  "  figured  in  very  small  letters,  it  is 
true,  over  the  door  to  comply  with  a  legal  necessity,  to  most 
of  the  visitors  he  was  a  mere  myth.  Now,  if  Peter  Barring- 
ton was  very  happy  to  be  represented  by  deputy,  —  or, 
better  still,  not  represented  at  all,  —  Miss  Dinah  regarded 
the  matter  in  a  very  different  light.  Her  theory  was  that, 
in  accepting  the  humble  station  to  which  reverse  of  fortune 
brought  them,  the  world  ought  to  see  all  the  heroism  and 
courage  of  the  sacrifice.  She  insisted  on  being  a  fore- 
ground figure,  just  to  show  them,  as  she  said,  "that  I  take 
nothing  upon  me.  I  ain  the  hostess  of  a  little  wayside  inn, 
—  no  more !  "     How  little  did  she  know  of  her  own  heart. 


8  BAKRLNGTON. 

and  how  far  was  she  from  even  suspecting  that  it  was  the 
ci-devant  belle  making  one  last  throw  for  the  admiration 
and  homage  which  once  were  offered  her  freely. 

JSuch  were  the  three  chief  personages  who  dwelt  under  that 
secluded  roof,  half  overgrown  with  honeysuckle  and  dog- 
roses,  —  specimens  of  that  wider  world  without,  where  jeal- 
ousies, and  distrusts,  and  petty  rivalries  are  warring:  for  as 
in  one  tiny  globule  of  water  are  represented  the  elements 
which  make  oceans  and  seas,  so  is  it  in  the  moral  world; 
and  "the  family"  is  only  humanity,  as  the  artists  say, 
"reduced." 

For  years  back  Miss  Barrington  had  been  plotting  to  de- 
pose Darby.  With  an  ingenuity  quite  feminine,  she  man- 
aged to  connect  him  with  every  chagrin  that  crossed  and 
every  annoyance  that  befell  them.  If  the  pig  ploughed  up 
the  new  peas  in  the  garden,  it  was  Darby  had  left  the  gate 
open;  it  was  his  hand  overwound  the  clock;  and  a  ver)'  sig- 
nificant hint  showed  that  when  the  thunder  soured  the  beer, 
Mr.  Darby  knew  more  of  the  matter  than  he  was  likely  to 
tell.  Against  such  charges  as  these,  iterated  and  reiterated 
to  satiety,  Barrington  would  reply  by  a  smile,  or  a  good- 
natured  excuse,  or  a  mere  gesture  to  suggest  patience,  till 
his  sister,  fairly  worn  out,  resolved  on  another  line  of 
action.  "As  she  could  not  banish  the  rats,"  to  use  her  own 
words,  "she  would  scuttle  the  ship." 

To  explain  her  project,  I  must  go  back  in  my  story,  and 
state  that  her  nephew,  George  Barrington,  had  sent  over  to 
England,  some  fifteen  years  before,  a  little  girl,  whom  he 
called  his  daughter.  She  was  consigned  to  the  care  of  his 
banker  in  London,  with  directions  that  he  should  communi- 
cate with  Mr.  Peter  Barrington,  announce  the  child's  safe 
arrival,  and  consult  with  him  as  to  her  future  destination. 
Now,  when  the  event  took  place,  Barrington  was  in  the  very 
crisis  of  his  disasters.  Overwhelmed  with  debts,  pursued 
by  creditors,  regularly  hunted  down,  he  was  driven  day  by 
day  to  sign  away  most  valuable  securities  for  mere  passing 
considerations,  and  obliged  to  accept  any  .conditions  for 
daily  support.  He  answered  the  banker's  letter,  briefly 
stating  his  great  embarrassment,  and  begging  him  to  give 
the  child  his   protection  for  a  few  weeks  or  so,  till   some 


THE   FISHERMAN'S   HOME.  9 

arrangement  of  his  affairs  might  enable  him  to  offer  her  a 
home. 

This  time,  however,  glided  over,  and  the  hoped-for  amend- 
ment never  came,  —  far  from  it.  Writs  were  out  against 
him,  and  he  was  driven  to  seek  a  refuge  in  the  Isle  of  Man, 
at  that  time  the  special  sanctuary  of  insolvent  sinners. 
Mr.  Leonard  Gower  wrote  again,  and  proposed  that,  if  no 
objection  would  be  made  to  the  plan,  the  child  should  be 
sent  to  a  certain  convent  near  Namur,  in  the  Netherlands, 
where  his  own  daughter  was  then  placed  for  her  education. 
Aunt  Dinah  would  have  rejected,  —  ay,  or  would  have  re- 
sented such  a  proposal  as  an  insult,  had  the  world  but  gone 
on  better  with  them.  That  her  grand-niece  should  be 
brought  up  a  Catholic  was  an  outrage  on  the  whole  Barring- 
ton  blood.  But  calamity  had  brought  her  low,  —  very  low, 
indeed.  The  child,  too,  was  a  heathen,  —  a  Hindoo  or  a 
Buddhist,  perhaps,  —  for  the  mother  was  a  native  woman, 
reputed,  indeed,  to  be  a  princess.  But  who  could  know 
this?  Who  could  vouch  that  George  was  ever  married  at 
all,  or  if  such  a  ceremony  were  possible?  All  these  were 
"attenuating  circumstances,"  and  as  such  she  accepted 
them ;  and  the  measure  of  her  submission  was  filled  up  when 
she  received  a  portrait  of  the  little  girl,  painted  by  a  native 
artist.  It  represented  a  dark-skinned,  heavy-browed  child, 
with  wide,  full  eyes,  thick  lips,  and  an  expression  at  once 
florid  and  sullen,  — not  any  of  the  traits  one  likes  to  associ- 
ate with  infancy,  —  and  it  was  with  a  half  shudder  Aunt 
Dinah  closed  the  miniature,  and  declared  that  "the  sight  of 
the  little  savage  actually  frightened  her." 

Not  so  poor  Barrington.  He  professed  to  see  a  great 
resemblance  to  his  son.  It  was  George  all  over.  To  be 
sure,  his  eyes  were  deep  blue,  and  his  hair  a  rich  brown; 
but  there  was  something  in  the  nose,  or  perhaps  it  was  in 
the  mouth,  — no,  it  was  the  chin,  —  ay,  it  was  the  chin  was 
George's.  It  was  the  Barrington  chin,  and  no  mistake 
about  it. 

At  all  events,  no  opposition  was  made  to  the  banker's 
project,  and  the  little  girl  was  sent  off  to  the  convent  of  the 
Holy  Cross,  on  the  banks  of  the  Meuse.  She  was  inscribed 
on  the  roll  as  the  Princess  Doondiah,  and  bore  the  name  til/ 


10  BAKKINGTON. 

her  father's  death,  wheu  Mr.  Gower  suggested  that  she 
should  be  called  by  her  family  uame.  The  letter  with  the 
proposal,  by  some  accideut,  was  uot  acknowledged,  and  the 
writer,  taking  silence  to  mean  consent,  desired  the  superior 
to  address  her,  henceforth,  as  Miss  Barrington;  the  first 
startling  intimation  of  the  change  being  a  strangely, 
quaintly  written  note,  addressed  to  her  grand-aunt,  and 
signed  "Josephine  Barrington."  It  was  a  cold,  formal 
letter,  —  so  ver}'  formal,  indeed,  as  to  read  like  the  copj'  of 
a  document,  —  asking  for  leave  to  enter  upon  a  novitiate  of 
two  years'  duration,  at  the  expiration  of  which  she  would  be 
nineteen  years  of  age,  and  in  a  position  to  decide  upon 
taking  the  veil  for  life.  The  permission,  very  urgently 
pressed  for  by  Mr.  Gower  in  another  letter,  Avas  accorded, 
and  now  we  have  arrived  at  that  period  in  which  but  three 
months  only  remained  of  the  two  years  whose  closure  was 
to  decide  her  fate  forever. 

Barrington  had  long  yearned  to  see  her.  It  was  with  deep 
and  bitter  self-reproach  he  thought  over  the  cold  neglect 
they  had  shown  her.  She  was  all  that  remained  of  poor 
George,  his  boy,  —  for  so  he  called  him,  and  so  he  thought 
of  him,  —  long  after  the  bronzed  cheek  and  the  prematurely 
whitened  hair  had  tempered  his  manhood.  To  be  sure,  all 
the  world  said,  and  he  knew  himself,  how  it  was  chiefly 
through  the  "boy's"  extravagance  he  came  to  ruin.  But 
it  was  over  now.  The  event  that  sobers  down  reproach  to 
sorrow  had  come.  He  was  dead !  All  that  arose  to  memory 
of  him  were  the  traits  that  suggested  hopes  of  his  child- 
hood, or  gave  triumph  in  his  riper  years ;  and  oh,  is  it  not 
better  thus?  for  what  hearts  would  be  left  us  if  we  were  to 
carry  in  them  the  petty  rancors  and  jealousies  which  once 
filled  them,  but  which,  one  daj-,  we  buried  in  the  cold  clay 
of  the  churchyard. 

Aunt  Dinah,  moved  by  reasons  long  canvassed  over  in  her 
own  mind,  at  last  began  to  think  of  recalling  her  grand- 
niece.  It  was  so  very  bold  a  project  that,  at  first,  she  could 
scarcely  entertain  it.  The  Popery  was  very  dreadful !  Her 
imagination  conjured  up  the  cottage  converted  into  a  little 
Baal,  with  false  gods  and  graven  images,  and  holy-water 
fonts  at  ever}'  turn ;  but  the  doubtful  legitimacy  was  worse 


THE   FISHERMAN'S   HOME.  11 

again.  She  had  a  theory  that  it  was  by  lapses  of  this  kind 
the  "blue  blood"  of  old  families  grew  deteriorated,  and  that 
the  downfall  of  many  an  ancient  house  was  traceable  to 
these  corruptions.  Far  better,  she  deemed  it,  that  the 
Barringtons  should  die  out  forever  than  their  line  be  con- 
tinued by  this  base  and  ignoble  grafting. 

There  is  a  contre  for  every ^>om/-  in  this  world.  It  may  be 
a  weak  and  an  insufficient  one,  it  is  true;  but  it  is  a  cer- 
tainty that  all  our  projects  must  come  to  a  debtor  or  creditor 
reckoning,  and  the  very  best  we  can  do  is  to  strike  an  hon- 
est balance ! 

How  Miss  Dinah  essayed  to  do  this  we  shall  learn  in  the 
next  chapter  and  what  follows  it. 


CHAPTER  11. 

A    WET    MORNING   AT    HOME. 

If  there  was  anything  that  possessed  more  than  common 
terror  for  Barriugton,  it  was  a  wet  clay  at  the  cottage !  It 
was  on  these  dreary  visitations  that  his  sister  took  the 
opportunity  of  going  into  "committee  of  supply,"  —  an 
occasion  not  merely  for  the  discussion  of  fiscal  matters,  but 
for  asking  the  most  vexatious  questions  and  demanding  the 
most  unpleasant  explanations. 

We  can  all,  more  or  less,  appreciate  the  happiness  of 
that  right  honorable  gentleman  on  the  Treasury  bench  who 
has  to  reply  to  the  crude  and  unmeaning  inquiries  of  some 
aspiring  Oppositionist,  and  who  wishes  to  know  if  her 
Majesty's  Government  have  demanded  an  indemnity  from 
the  King  of  Dahomey  for  the  consul's  family  eaten  by  him 
at  the  last  court  ceremonial  ?  What  compensation  is  to  be 
given  to  Captain  Balrothery  for  his  week's  imprisonment 
at  Leghorn,  in  consequence  of  his  having  thrown  the  cus- 
toms officer  and  a  landing  waiter  into  the  sea?  Or  what 
mark  of  her  Majesty's  favor  will  the  noble  lord  recommend 
should  be  conferred  upon  Ensign  Digges  for  the  admirable 
imitation  he  gave  of  the  dancing  dervishes  at  Benares,  and 
the  just  ridicule  he  thus  threw  upon  these  degrading  and 
heathenish  rites? 

It  was  to  a  torture  of  this  order,  far  moi-e  reasonable  and 
pertinent,  however,  that  Barriugton  usually  saw  himself 
reduced  whenever  the  weather  was  so  decidedly  unfavorable 
that  egress  was  impossible.  Poor  fellow,  what  shallow 
pretexts  would  he  stammer  out  for  absenting  himself  from 
home,  what  despicable  subterfuges  to  put  off  an  audience! 
He  had  forgotten  to  put  down  the  frame  on  that  melon-bed- 


A   WET   MORNING  AT   HOME.  13 

There  was  that  awning  over  the  boat  not  taken  in.  He  'd 
step  out  to  the  stable  and  give  Billy,  the  pony,  a  touch  of 
the  white  oils  on  that  swelled  hock.  He  'd  see  if  they  had 
got  the  young  lambs  under  cover.  In  fact,  from  his  per- 
turbed and  agitated  manner,  you  would  have  imagiued  that 
rain  was  one  of  the  rarest  incidents  of  an  Irish  climate, 
and  only  the  very  promptest  measures  could  mitigate  the 
calamity. 

"May  I  ask  where  you  are  off  to  in  such  haste,  Peter?" 
asked  Miss  Dinah  one  morning,  just  as  Barrington  had 
completed  all  his  arrangements  for  a  retreat;  far  readier  to 
brave  the  elements  than  the  more  pitiless  pelting  that  awaited 
him  within  doors. 

"I  just  remembered,"  said  he,  mildly,  "that  I  had  left 
two  night-lines  out  at  the  point,  and  with  this  fresh  in  the 
river  it  would  be  as  well  if  I  'd  step  down  and  see  —  " 

"And  see  if  the  river  was  where  it  was  yesterday,"  broke 
she  in,  sneeriugly. 

"No,  Dinah.  But  you  see  that  there's  this  to  be  re- 
marked about  night-lines  —  " 

"That  they  never  catch  any  fish!"  said  she,  sternly. 
"It's  no  weather  for  you  to  go  tramping  about  in  the  wet 
grass.  You  made  fuss  enough  about  your  lumbago  last 
week,  and  I  suppose  j^ou  don't  want  it  back  again.  Be- 
sides," —  and  here  her  tongue  grew  authoritative,  — "I  have 
got  up  the  books."  And  with  these  words  she  threw  on 
the  table  a  number  of  little  greasy-looking  volumes,  over 
which  poor  Barrington's  sad  glances  wandered,  pretty  much 
as  might  a  victim's  over  the  thumb-screws  and  the  flesh- 
nippers  of  the  Holy  Inquisition. 

"I  've  a  slight  touch  of  a  headache  this  morning,  Dinah." 

"It  won't  be  cured  by  going  out  in  the  rain.  Sit  down 
there,"  said  she,  peremptorily, "and  see  with  your  own  eyes 
bow  much  longer  your  means  will  enable  you  to  continue 
these  habits  of  waste  and  extravagance." 

"These  what?"  said  he,  perfectly  astounded. 

"These  habits  of  waste  and  extravagance,  Peter  Barring- 
ton.     I  repeat  my  words." 

Had  a  venerable  divine,  being  asked  on  the  conclusion  of 
an  edifying  discourse,  for  how  much  longer  it  might  be  his 


14  BARRINGTON. 

intention  to  persist  in  sucli  ribaldries,  his  astonishment 
could  scarce  have  been  greater  than  Barrington's. 

"Why,  sister  Dinah,  are  we  not  keeping  an  inn?  Is  not 
this  the  '  Fisherman's  Home  '  ?  " 

"I  should  think  it  is,  Peter,"  said  she,  with  scorn.  "I 
suspect  he  finds  it  so.     A  very  excellent  name  for  it  it  is! " 

"Must  I  own  that  I  don't  understand  you,  Dinah? " 

"Of  course  you  don't.  You  never  did  all  your  life.  You 
never  knew  you  were  wet  till  you  were  half  drowned,  and 
that's  what  the  world  calls  having  such  an  amiable  disposi- 
tion! Ain't  your  friends  nice  friends?  They  are  always 
telling  you  how  generous  you  are,  —  how  free-handed,  — 
how  benevolent.  What  a  heart  he  has!  Ay,  but  thank 
Providence  there 's  very  little  of  that  charming  docility 
about  me,  is  there  ?  " 

"None,  Dinah,  — none,"  said  he,  not  in  the  least  suspect- 
ing to  what  he  was  bearing  testimony. 

She  became  crimson  in  a  minute,  and  in  a  tone  of  some 
emotion  said,  "And  if  there  had  been,  where  should  you 
and  where  should  I  be  to-day?  On  the  parish,  Peter  Bar- 
rington, — on  the  parish;  for  it's  neither  your  head  nor 
your  hands  would  have  saved  us  from  it." 

"You're  right,  Dinah;  you're  right  there.  You  never 
spoke  a  truer  word."     And  his  voice  trembled  as  he  said  it. 

"I  didn't  mean  that,  Peter,"  said  she,  eagerly;  "but  you 
are  too  confiding,  too  trustful.  Perhaps  it  takes  a  woman 
to  detect  all  the  little  wiles  and  snares  that  entangle  us  in 
our  daily  life?  " 

"Perhaps  it  does,"  said  he,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"At  all  events,  you  needn't  sigh  over  it,  Peter  Barring- 
ton.  It's  not  one  of  those  blemishes  in  human  nature  that 
have  to  be  deplored  so  feelingly.  I  hope  women  are  as 
good  as  men." 

"Fifty  thousand  times  better,  in  every  quality  of  kindli- 
ness and  generosity." 

"Humph!"  said  she,  tossing  her  head  impatiently. 
"We  're  not  here  for  a  question  in  ethics;  it  is  to  the  very 
lowly  task  of  examining  the  house  accounts  I  would  invite 
your  attention.  Matters  cannot  go  on  as  they  do  now,  if 
we  mean  to  keep  a  roof  over  us." 


A   WET  MOKNING   AT   HOME.  15 

"But  I  have  always  supposed  we  were  doing  pretty  well, 
Dinah.  You  know  we  never  promised  ourselves  to  gain  a 
fortune  by  this  venture ;  the  \evy  utmost  we  ever  hoped  for 
was  to  help  us  along,  —  to  aid  us  to  make  both  ends  meet  at 
the  end  of  the  year     And  as  Darby  tells  me  —  " 

"Oh,  Darby  tells  you!  What  a  reliable  authority  to 
quote  from!  Oh,  don't  groan  so  heavily!  I  forgot  myself. 
I  would  n't  for  the  world  impeach  such  fidelity  or  honesty 
as  his." 

"Be  reasonable,  sister  Dinah,  — do  be  reasonable ;  and  if 
there  is  anything  to  lay  to  his  charge  —  " 

"You  '11  hear  the  case,  I  suppose,"  cried  she,  in  a  voice 
high-pitched  in  passion.  "You'll  sit  ujj  there,  like  one  of 
your  favorite  judges,  and  call  on  Dinah  Barriugton  against 
Cassan;  and  perhaps  when  the  cause  is  concluded  we  shall 
reverse  our  places,  and  I  become  the  defendant!  But  if  this 
is  your  intention,  brother  Barriugton,  give  me  a  little  time. 
I  beg  I  may  have  a  little  time." 

Now,  this  was  a  very  favorite  request  of  Miss  Barring- 
ton's,  and  she  usually  made  it  in  the  tone  of  a  martyr; 
but  truth  obliges  us  to  own  that  never  was  a  demand  less 
justifiable.  Not  a  three-decker  of  the  Channel  fleet  was 
readier  for  a  broadside  than  herself.  She  was  always  at 
quarters  and  with  a  port-fire  burning. 

Barriugton  did  not  answer  this  appeal ;  he  never  moved, 
—  he  scarcely  appeared  to  breathe,  so  guarded  was  he  lest 
his  most  unintentional  gesture  should  be  the  subject  of 
comment. 

''When  you  have  recovered  from  your  stupefaction,"  said 
she,  calmly,  "will  you  look  over  that  line  of  figures,  and 
then  give  a  glance  at  this  total  ?  After  that  I  will  ask  you 
what  fortune  could  stand  it." 

"This  looks  formidable,  indeed,"  said  he,  poring  over  the 
page  through  his  spectacles. 

"It  is  worse,  Peter.     It  is  formidable." 

"After  all,  Dinah,  this  is  expenditure.  Now  for  the 
incomings!  " 

"I  suspect  you  '11  have  to  ask  your  prime  minister  for 
them.  Perhaps  he  may  vouchsafe  to  tell  you  how  many 
twenty-pound  notes  have  gone  to  America,  who  it  was  that 


16  BARRINGTON. 

consigned  a  cargo  of  new  potatoes  to  Liverpool,  and  what 
amount  he  invested  in  yarn  at  the  last  fair  of  Graigue?  and 
when  you  have  learned  these  facts,  you  will  know  all  you  are 
ever  likel}'  to  know  of  your  profits!"  I  have  no  means  of 
conveying  the  intense  scorn  with  which  she  uttered  the  last 
word  of  this  speech. 

"  And  he  told  me  —  not  a  week  back  —  that  we  were  going 
on  famousl}' !  " 

"Wh}'  wouldn't  he?  I'd  like  to  hear  what  else  he  could 
say.  Famously,  indeed,  for  7u'»i,  with  a  strong  balance  in 
the  savings-bank,  and  a  gold  watch  —  yes,  Peter,  a  gold 
watch  —  in  his  pocket.  This  is  no  delusion,  nor  illusion, 
or  whatever  you  call  it,  of  mine,  but  a  fact,  —  a  downright 
fact." 

"He  has  been  toiling  hard  many  a  year  for  it,  Dinah, 
don't  forget  that." 

"I  believe  j^ou  want  to  drive  me  mad,  Peter.  You  know 
these  are  things  that  I  can't  bear,  and  that 's  the  reason  you 
say  them.  Toil,  indeed!  1  never  saw  him  do  anything 
except  sit  on  a  gate  at  the  Lock  Meadows,  with  a  pipe  in 
his  mouth;  and  if  you  asked  him  what  he  was  there  for,  it 
was  a  '  ti'ack '  he  was  watching,  a  '  dog-fox  that  went  by 
every  afternoon  to  the  turnip  field.'  Very  great  toil  that 
was!" 

"There  wasn't  an  earth-stopper  like  him  in  the  three  next 
counties;  and  if  I  was  to  have  a  pack  of  foxhounds  to- 
morrow —  " 

"You  'd  just  be  as  great  a  fool  as  ever  you  were,  and  the 
more  sorry  I  am  to  hear  it;  but  you're  not  going  to-be 
tempted,  Peter  Barrington.  It 's  not  foxes  we  have  to  think 
of,  but  where  we  're  to  find  shelter  for  ourselves." 

"Do  you  know  of  anything  we  could  turn  to,  more  profit- 
able, Dinah?"  asked  he,  mildly. 

"There's  nothing  could  be  much  less  so,  I  know  that! 
You  are  not  ver}^  observant,  Peter,  but  even  to  yovi  it  must 
have  become  apparent  that  great  changes  have  come  over 
the  world  in  a  few  years.  The  persons  who  formerly  in- 
dulged their  leisure  were  all  men  of  rank  and  fortune.  Who 
are  the  people  who  come  over  here  now  to  amuse  them- 
selves?    Staleybridge  and  Manchester  creatures,  with  fac- 


A  WET  MORNING  AT  HOME.  17 

tory  morals  and  bagman  manners ;  treating  our  house  like  a 
commercial  inn,  and  actually  disputing  the  bill  and  asking 
for  items.  Yes,  Peter,  I  overheard  a  fellow  telling  Darby 
last  week  that  the  '  'ouse  was  dearer  than  the  Halbion! ' " 

"Travellers  will  do  these  things,  Dinah." 

"And  if  they  do,  they  shall  be  shown  the  door  for  it,  as 
sure  as  my  name  is  Dinah  Barringtou." 

"Let  us  give  up  the  inn  altogether,  then,"  said  he,  with  a 
sudden  impatience. 

"The  very  thing  I  was  going  to  propose,  Peter,"  said  she, 
solemnly. 

"What!  —  how?"  cried  he,  for  the  acceptance  of  what 
only  escaped  him  in  a  moment  of  anger  overwhelmed  and 
stunned  him.     "How  are  we  to  live,  Dinah?" 

"Better  without  than  with  it, — there's  my  answer  to 
that.  Let  us  look  the  matter  fairly  in  the  face,  Peter,"  said 
she,  with  a  calm  and  measured  utterance.  "This  dealing 
with  the  world  '  on  honor '  must  ever  be  a  losing  game.  To 
screen  ourselves  from  the  vulgar  necessities  of  our  condi- 
tion, we  must  submit  to  any  terms.  So  long  as  our  inter- 
course with  life  gave  us  none  but  gentlemen  to  deal  with, 
we  escaped  well  and  safely.  That  race  would  seem  to  have 
thinned  off  of  late,  however;  or,  what  comes  to  the  same, 
there  is  such  a  deluge  of  spurious  coin  one  never  knows 
what  is  real  gold." 

"You  may  be  right,  Dinah;  you  may  be  right." 

"I  know  I  am  right;  the  experience  has  been  the  growth 
of  years  too.  All  our  efforts  to  escape  the  odious  contact 
of  these  people  have  multiplied  our  expenses.  Where  one 
man  used  to  suffice,  we  keep  three.  You  yourself,  who  felt 
it  no  indignity  to  go  out  a-fishing  formerly  with  a  chance 
traveller,^  have  to  own  with  what  reserve  and  caution  you 
would  accept  such  companionship  now." 

"Nay,  nay,  Dinah,  not  exactly  so  far  as  that  —  " 

"And  why  not?  Was  it  not  less  than  a  fortnight  ago 
three  Birmingham  men  crossed  the  threshold,  calling  out 
for  old  Peter,  —  was  old  Peter  to  the  good  yet  ?  " 

"They  were  a  little  elevated  with  wine,  sister,  remember 
that;  and,  besides,  they  never  knew,  never  had  heard  of  me 
in  my  once  condition." 

VOL.    I.  —  2 


18  BARRIXGTOX. 

"And  are  we  so  changed  that  they  cannot  recognize  the 
chiss  we  pertain  to?" 

"Not  ijou^  Dinah,  certainly  not  you;  but  I  frankly  own  I 
can  put  up  with  rudeness  and  incivility  better  than  a  certain 
showy  courtesy  some  vulgar  people  practise  towards  me. 
In  the  one  case  I  feel  I  am  not  known,  and  my  secret  is 
safe.  In  the  other,  I  have  to  stand  out  as  the  ruined  gen- 
tleman, and  I  am  not  always  sure  that  I  play  the  part  as 
gi-acefully  as  I  ought." 

"Let  us  leave  emotions,  Peter,  and  descend  to  the  low- 
land of  arithmetic,  by  giving  up  two  boatmen,  John  and 
Terry  —  " 

"Poor  Terry!  "  sighed  he,  with  a  faint,  low  accent. 

"Oh!  if  it  be  '  poor  Terry! '  I  've  done,"  said  she,  closing 
the  book,  and  throwing  it  down  with  a  slap  that  made  him 
start. 

"Nay,  dear  Dinah;  but  if  we  could  manage  to  let  him 
have  something,  —  say  five  shillings  a  week,  —  he  'd  not 
need  it  long;  and  the  port  wine  that  was  doing  his 
rheumatism  such  good  is  nearly  finished;  he'll  miss  it 
sorely." 

"Were  you  giving  him  Henderson's  wine, — the  '11 
vintage?"  cried  she,  pale  with  indignation. 

"Just  a  bottle  or  two,  Dinah;  only  as  medicine." 

"As  a  fiddlestick,  sir!  I  declare  I  have  no  patience  with 
you;  there  's  no  excuse  for  such  folly,  not  to  say  the  igno- 
rance of  giving  these  creatures  what  they  never  were  used 
to.  Did  not  Dr.  Dill  tell  you  that  tonics,  to  be  effective, 
must  always  have  some  relation  to  the  daily  habits  of  the 
patient?" 

"Very  true,  Dinah;  but  the  discourse  was  pronounced 
when  I  saw  him  putting  a  bottle  of  old  Madeira  in  his  gig 
that  I  had  left  for  Anne  M'Cafferty,  adding,  he  'd  send  her 
something  far  more  strengthening." 

"Right  or  wrong,  I  don't  care;  but  this  I  know,  Terry 
Dogherty  is  n't  going  to  finish  off  Henderson's  port.  It  is 
rather  too  much  to  stand,  that  we  are  to  be  treating  beggars 
to  luxuries,  when  we  can't  say  to-morrow  where  we  shall  find 
salt  for  our  potatoes."  This  was  a  somewhat  favorite 
illustration  of  Miss  Barrington,  —  either  implying  that  the 


A  WET   MORNING   AT   HOME.  19 

commodity  was  an  essential  to  human  life,  or  the  use  of  it 
an  emblem  of  extreme  destitution. 

"I  conclude  we  may  dispense  with  Tom  Divett's  services," 
resumed  she.  *"  We  can  assuredly  get  on  without  a  profes- 
sional rat-catcher." 

"If  we  should,  Dinah,  we'll  feel  the  loss;  the  rats  make 
sad  havoc  of  the  spawn,  and  destroy  quantities  of  the  young 
fish,  besides." 

"His  two  ugly  terriers  eat  just  as  many  chickens,  and 
never  leave  us  an  egg  in  the  place.  And  now  for  Mr. 
Darby  —  " 

"You  surely  don't  think  of  parting  with  Darby,  sister 
Dinah?" 

"He  shall  lead  the  way,"  replied  she,  in  a  firm  and  per- 
emptory voice;  "the  very  first  of  the  batch!  And  it  will, 
doubtless,  be  a  great  comfort  to  you  to  know  that  you  need 
not  distress  yourself  about  any  provision  for  his  declining 
years.  It  is  a  care  that  he  has  attended  to  on  his  own  part. 
He  '11  go  back  to  a  very  well-feathered  nest,  I  promise  you." 

Barrington  sighed  heavily,  for  he  had  a  secret  sorrow  on 
that  score.  He  knew,  though  his  sister  did  not,  that  he  had 
from  year  to  year  been  borrowing  every  pound  of  Darby's 
savings  to  pay  the  cost  of  law  charges,  always  hoping  and 
looking  for  the  time  when  a  verdict  in  his  favor  would 
enable  him  to  restore  the  money  twice  told.  With  a  very 
dreary  sigh,  then,  did  he  here  allude  "to  the  well-feathered 
nest "  of  one  he  had  left  bare  and  destitute.  He  cleared  his 
throat,  and  made  an  effort  to  avow  the  whole  matter;  but 
his  courage  failed  him,  and  he  sat  mournfully  shaking  his 
head,  pai'tly  in  sorrow,  partly  in  shame.  His  sister  noticed 
none  of  these  signs;  she  was  rapidly  enumerating  all  the  re- 
ductions that  could  be  made,  — all  the  dependencies  cut  off; 
there  were  the  boats,  which  constantly  required  repairs;  the 
nets,  eternally  being  renewed,  —  all  to  be  discarded ;  the 
island,  a  very  pretty  little  object  in  the  middle  of  the  river, 
need  no  longer  be  rented.  "Indeed,"  said  she,  "I  don't 
know  why  we  took  it,  except  it  was  to  give  those  memorable 
picnics  you  used  to  have  there." 

"How  pleasant  they  were,  Dinah;  how  delightful!"  said 
he,  totally  overlooking  the  spirit  of  her  remark. 


20  BAllKIXGTON. 

"Oh!  they  were  charming,  and  your  own  popularity  was 
boundless ;  but  I  'd  have  you  to  bear  in  mind,  brother  Peter, 
that  popularity  is  no  more  a  poor  man's  luxury  than  cham- 
pagne. It  is  a  very  costly  indulgence,  and  can  rarely  be 
had  on  '  credit. '  " 

Miss  Barrington  had  pared  down  retrenchment  to  the  very 
quick.  She  had  shown  that  they  could  live  not  only  without 
boatmen,  rat-catchers,  gardener,  and  manservant,  but  that, 
as  they  were  to  give  up  their  daily  newspaper,  they  could 
dispense  with  a  full  ration  of  caudle-light;  and  3'et,  with  all 
these  reductions,  she  declared  that  there  was  still  another 
encumbrance  to  be  pruned  away,  and  she  proudly  asked  her 
brother  if  he  could  guess  what  it  was  ? 

Now  Barrington  felt  that  he  could  not  live  without  a 
certain  allowance  of  food,  nor  would  it  be  convenient,  or 
even  decent,  to  dispense  with  raiment;  so  he  began,  as  a 
last  resource,  to  conjecture  that  his  sister  was  darkly  hint- 
ing at  something  which  might  be  a  substitute  for  a  home, 
and  save  house-rent;  and  he  half  testily  exclaimed,  "I  sup- 
pose we  're  to  have  a  roof  over  us,  Dinah!  " 

"Yes,"  said  she,  dryly,  "I  never  proposed  we  should  go 
and  live  in  the  woods.  What  I  meant  had  a  reference  to 
Josephine  —  " 

Barrington' s  cheek  flushed  deeply  in  an  instant,  and,  with 
a  voice  trembling  with  emotion,  he  said,  — 

"If  you  mean,  Dinah,  that  I'm  to  cut  off  that  miser- 
able pittance  —  that  forty  pounds  a  year  —  I  give  to  poor 
George's  girl  —  "  He  stopped,  for  he  saw  that  in  his  sis- 
ter's face  which  might  have  appalled  a  bolder  heart  than  his 
own;  for  while  her  eyes  flashed  fire,  her  thin  lips  trembled 
with  passion ;  and  so,  in  a  very  faltering  humility,  he  added : 
"But  you  never  meant  that,  sister  Dinah.  You  would 
be  the  very  last  in  the  world  to  do  it." 

"Then  why  impute  it  to  me;  answer  me  that?"  said  she, 
crossing  her  hands  behind  her  back,  and  staring  haughtily 
at  him. 

"Just  because  I'm  clean  at  my  wits'  end,  — just  because 
I  neither  understand  one  word  I  hear,  or  what  I  say  in 
reply.  If  you  '11  just  tell  me  what  it  is  you  propose,  I  '11  do 
my  best,  with  God's  blessing,  to  follow  you;  but  don't  ask 


A   WET   MORNING  AT  HOME.  21 

me  for  advice,  Dinah,  and  don't  fly  out  because  I  'm  not  as 
quick-witted  and  as  clever  as  yourself." 

There  was  something  almost  so  abject  in  his  misery  that 
she  seemed  touched  by  it,  and,  in  a  voice  of  a  very  calm  and 
kindly  meaning,  she  said,  — 

''I  have  been  thinking  a  good  deal  over  that  letter  of 
Josephine's;  she  saj's  she  wants  our  consent  to  take  the  veil 
as  a  nuu;  that,  by  the  rules  of  the  order,  when  her  novitiate 
is  concluded,  she  must  go  into  the  world  for  at  least  some 
mouths,  —  a  time  meant  to  test  her  faithfulness  to  her  vows, 
and  the  tranquillity  with  which  she  can  renounce  forever  all 
the  joys  and  attractions  of  life.  "We,  it  is  true,  have  no 
means  of  surrounding  her  with  such  temptations;  but  we 
might  try  and  supply  their  place  by  some  less  brilliant  but 
not  less  attractive  ones.  "We  might  offer  her,  what  we  ought 
to  have  offered  her  years  ago,  —  a  home !  "What  do  j^ou  say 
to  this,  Peter?" 

''That  I  love  you  for  it,  sister  Dinah, with  all  my  heart," 
said  he,  kissing  her  on  each  cheek;  "that  it  makes  me  hap- 
pier than  I  kuew  I  ever  was  to  be  again." 

"Of  course,  to  bring  Josephine  here,  this  must  not  be  an 
inn,  Peter." 

"Certainly  not,  Dinah,  —  certainly-  not.  But  I  can  think 
of  nothing  but  the  joy  of  seeing  her, —  poor  George's  child! 
How  I  have  yearned  to  know  if  she  was  like  him,  —  if  she 
had  any  of  his  ways,  any  traits  of  that  quaint,  dry  humor 
he  had,  and,  above  all,  of  that  disposition  that  made  him 
so  loved  by  every  one." 

"And  cheated  by  every  one  too,  brother  Peter;  don't 
forget  that!" 

""S\'ho  wants  to  think  of  it  now?  "  said  he,  sorrowfully. 

"I  never  reject  a  thought  because  it  has  unpleasant  asso- 
ciations. It  would  be  but  a  sorry  asylum  which  only  ad- 
mitted the  well-to-do  and  the  happy." 

"How  are  we  to  get  the  dear  child  here,  Dinah?  Let  us 
consider  the  matter.     It  is  a  long  journey  off." 

"I  have  thought  of  that  too,"  said  she,  sententiously, 
'"but  not  made  up  mj"  mind." 

"Let  us  ask  M'Cormick  about  it,  Dinah;  he  's  coming  up 
this  evening  to  play  his  Saturday  night's  rubber  with  Dill. 
He  knows  the  Continent  well." 


22  BARRINGTON. 

"There  will  be  another  saving  that  I  did  n't  remember, 
Peter.  The  weekly  bottle  of  whiskey,  and  the  candles,  not 
to  speak  of  the  four  or  five  shillings  your  pleasant  compan- 
ions invariably  carry  away  with  them, — all  may  be  very 
advantageously  dispensed  with." 

"When  Josephine  's  here,  I  '11  not  miss  it,"  said  he,  good- 
humoredly.  Then  suddenly  remembering  that  his  sister 
might  not  deem  the  speech  a  gracious  one  to  herself,  he  was 
about  to  add  something;  but  she  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  in. 

OUR   NEXT    NEIGHBORS. 

Should  there  be  amongst  my  readers  any  one  whose  fortune 
it  has  been  in  life  only  to  associate  with  the  amiable,  the 
interesting,  and  the  agreeable,  all  whose  experiences  of  man- 
kind are  rose-tinted,  to  him  I  would  say,  Skip  over  two 
people  I  am  now  about  to  introduce,  and  take  up  my  story 
at  some  later  stage,  for  I  desire  to  be  truthful,  and,  as  is 
the  misfortune  of  people  in  my  situation,  I  may  be  very 
disagreeable. 

After  all,  I  may  have  made  more  excuses  than  were  need- 
ful. The  persons  I  would  present  are  in  that  large  category, 
the  commonplace,  and  only  as  uninviting  and  as  tiresome 
as  we  may  any  day  meet  in  a  second-class  on  the  railroad. 
Flourish,  therefore,  penny  trumpets,  and  announce  Major 
M'Cormick.  The  Major,  so  confidently  referred  to  by  Rar- 
rington  in  our  last  chapter  as  a  high  authority  on  matters 
continental,  was  a  very  shattered  remnant  of  the  unhappy 
Walcheren  expedition.  He  was  a  small,  mean-looking, 
narrow-faced  man,  with  a  thin,  bald  head,  and  red  whis- 
kers. He  walked  very  lame  from  an  injury  to  his  hip;  "his 
wound,"  he  called  it,  though  his  candor  did  not  explain  that 
it  was  incurred  by  being  thrown  down  a  hatchway  by  a 
brother  officer  in  a  drunken  brawl.  In  character  he  was  a 
saving,  penurious  creature,  without  one  single  sympathy 
outside  his  own  immediate  interests.  When  some  sixteen 
or  eighteen  years  before  the  Barringtons  had  settled  in  the 
neighborhood,  the  Major  began  to  entertain  thoughts  of 
matrimony.  Old  soldiers  are  rather  given  to  consider  mar- 
riage as  an  institution  especially  intended  to  solace  age  and 
console  rheumatism,  and  so  M'Cormick  debated  with  himself 
whether  he  had  not  arrived  at  the  suitable  time  for  this  in- 


24  BARRINGTON. 

dulgence,  and  also  whether  Miss  Dinah  Barrington  was  not 
the  individual  destined  to  share  his  lot  and  season  his 
gruel. 

But  a  few  years  back  and  his  ambition  would  as  soon  have 
aspired  to  an  archduchess  as  to  the  sister  ol  Barrington,  of 
Barrington  Hall,  whose  realms  of  social  distinction  sepa- 
rated them;  but  now,  fallen  from  their  high  estate,  forgotten 
by  the  world,  and  poor,  they  had  come  down  —  at  least,  he 
thought  so  —  to  a  level  in  which  there  would  be  no  presump- 
tion in  his  pretensions.  Indeed,  I  half  suspect  that  he 
thought  there  was  something  very  high-minded  and  generous 
in  his  intentions  with  regard  to  them.  At  all  events,  there 
was  a  struggle  of  some  sort  in  his  mind  which  went  on  from 
year  to  year  undecided.  Now,  there  are  men  —  for  the  most 
part  old  bachelors  —  to  whom  an  unfinished  project  is  a  pos- 
itive luxury,  who  like  to  add,  day  by  day,  a  few  threads  to 
the  web  of  fate,  but  no  more.  To  the  Major  it  was  quite 
enough  that  "some  fine  day  or  other"  —  so  he  phrased  it  — 
he  'd  make  his  offer,  just  as  he  thought  how,  in  the  same 
propitious  weather,  he  'd  put  a  new  roof  on  his  cottage,  and 
fill  up  that  quarry-hole  near  his  gate,  into  which  he  had 
narrowly  escaped  tumbling  some  half-dozen  times.  But 
thanks  to  his  caution  and  procrastination,  the  roof,  and  the 
project,  and  the  quarrj^-hole  were  exactly,  or  very  nearly,  in 
the  same  state  they  had  been  eighteen  years  before. 

Rumor  said  —  as  rumor  will  always  say  whatever  has  a 
tinge  of  ill-nature  in  it  —  that  Miss  Barrington  would  have 
accepted  him;  vulgar  report  declared  that  she  would  "jump 
at  the  offer."  Whether  this  be,  or  not,  the  appropriate  way 
of  receiving  a  matrimonial  proposal,  the  lady  was  not  called 
upon  to  display  her  activity.     He  never  told  his  love. 

It  is  very  hard  to  forgive  that  secretary,  home  or  foreign, 
who  in  the  day  of  his  power  and  patronage  could,  but  did 
not,  make  us  easy  for  life  with  this  mission  or  that  com- 
missionership.  It  is  not  easy  to  believe  that  our  uncle  the 
bishop  could  not,  without  any  undue  strain  upon  his  con- 
science, have  made  us  something,  albeit  a  clerical  error,  in 
bis  diocese,  but  infinitely  more  difficult  is  it  to  pardon  him 
who,  having  suggested  dreams  of  wedded  happiness,  still 
stands    hesitating,    doubting,    and   canvassing,  —  a   timid 


OUR  NEXT  NEIGHBORS.  25 

bather,  who   shivers   on   the  beach,  and   then  puts  on  his 
clothes  again. 

It  took  a  long  time  —  it  always  does  in  such  cases  —  ere 
Miss  Barrington  came  to  read  this  man  aright.  Indeed, 
the  light  of  her  own  hopes  had  dazzled  her,  and  she  never 
saw  him  clearly  till  they  were  extinguished;  but  when  the 
knowledge  did  come,  it  came  trebled  with  compound  inter- 
est, and  she  saw  him  in  all  that  displayed  his  miserable  self- 
ishness ;  and  although  her  brother,  who  found  it  hard  to 
believe  any  one  bad  who  had  not  been  tried  for  a  capital 
felony,  would  explain  awa}'^  many  a  meanness  by  saying, 
"It  is  just  his  way,  —  a  way,  and  no  more!  "  she  spoke  out 
fearlessly,  if  not  very  discreetly,  and  declared  she  detested 
him.  Of  course  she  averred  it  was  his  manners,  his  want 
of  breeding,  and  his  familiarity  that  displeased  her.  He 
might  be  an  excellent  creature,  — perhaps  he  was;  that  was 
nothing  to  her.  All  his  moral  qualities  might  have  an  inter- 
est for  his  friends;  she  was  a  mere  acquaintance,  and  was 
only  concerned  for  what  related  to  his  bearing  in  society. 
Then  "\Yalcheren  was  positively  odious  to  her.  Some  little 
solace  she  felt  at  the  thought  that  the  expedition  was  a  failure 
and  inglorious;  but  when  she  listened  to  the  fiftieth  time- 
told  tale  of  fever  and  ague,  she  would  sigh,  not  for  those 
who  suffered,  but  over  the  one  that  escaped.  It  is  a  great 
blessing  to  men  of  uneventful  lives  and  scant  imagination 
when  there  is  any  one  incident  to  which  memory  can  refer 
unceasingly.  Like  some  bold  headland  last  seen  at  sea,  it 
lives  in  the  mind  throughout  the  voyage.  Such  was  this 
ill-starred  expedition  to  the  Major.  It  dignified  his  exist- 
ence to  himself,  though  his  memory  never  soared  above  the 
most  ordinary  details  and  vulgar  incidents.  Thus  he  would 
maunder  on  for  hours,  telling  how  the  ships  sailed  and 
parted  company,  and  joined  again;  how  the  old  "Brennus" 
mistook  a  signal  and  put  back  to  Hull,  and  how  the  "  Sarah 
Reeves,"  his  own  transport,  was  sent  after  her.  Then  he 
grew  picturesque  about  Flushing,  as  first  seen  through  the 
dull  fogs  of  the  Scheldt,  with  village  spires  peeping  through 
the  heavy  vapor,  and  the  strange  Dutch  language,  with  its 
queer  names  for  the  vegetables  and  fruit  brought  by  the 
boats  alongside. 


26  BARRINGTON. 

"You  won't  believe  me,  Miss  Diuah,  but,  as  I  sit  here, 
the  peaches  was  like  little  melons,  and  the  cherries  as  big 
as  walnuts." 

"They  made  cherry-bounce  out  of  them,  I  hope,  sir," 
said  she,  with  a  scornful  smile. 

"No,  indeed,  ma'am,"  replied  he,  dull  to  the  sarcasm; 
"they  ate  them  in  a  kind  of  sauce  with  roast-pig,  and 
mighty  good  too! " 

But  enough  of  the  Major;  and  now  a  word,  and  only  a 
word,  for  his  companion,  already  alluded  to  by  Barring- 
ton.  Dr.  Dill  had  been  a  poor  "Dispensary  Doctor"  for 
some  thirty  years,  with  a  small  practice,  and  two  or  three 
grand  patrons  at  some  miles  off,  who  employed  him  for 
the  servants,  or  for  the  children  in  "mild  cases,"  and  who 
even  extended  to  him  a  sort  of  contemptuous  courtesy  that 
serves  to  make  a  proud  man  a  bear,  and  an  humble  man  a 
sycophant. 

Dill  was  the  reverse  of  proud,  and  took  to  the  other  line 
with  much  kindliness.  To  have  watched  him  in  his  daily 
round  you  would  have  said  that  he  liked  being  trampled  on, 
and  actually  enjoyed  being  crushed.  He  smiled  so  blandly, 
and  looked  so  sweetly  under  it  all,  as  though  it  was  a  kind 
of  moral  shampooing,  from  which  he  would  come  out  all 
the  fresher  and  more  vigorous. 

The  world  is  certainly  generous  in  its  dealings  with 
these  temperaments;  it  indulges  them  to  the  top  of  their 
hearts,  and  gives  them  humiliations  to  their  heart's  content. 
Rumor  —  the  same  wicked  goddess  who  libelled  Miss  Bar- 
rington  —  hinted  that  the  doctor  was  not,  within  his  own 
walls  and  under  his  own  roof,  the  suffering  angel  the  world 
saw  him,  and  that  he  occasionally  did  a  little  trampling 
there  on  his  own  account.  However,  Mrs.  Dill  never  com- 
plained; and  though  the  children  wore  a  tremulous  terror 
and  submissiveness  in  their  looks,  they  were  only  suitable 
family  traits,  which  all  redounded  to  their  credit,  and  made 
them  "so  like  the  doctor." 

Such  were  the  two  worthies  who  slowly  floated  along  on 
the  current  of  the  river  of  a  calm  summer's  evening,  to  visit 
the  Barringtons.  As  usual,  the  talk  was  of  their  host. 
They  discussed  his  character  and  his  habits  and  his  debts, 


OUR  NEXT  NEIGHBORS.  27 

and  the  difficulty  he  had  in  raising  that  little  loan  ;  and  in 
close  juxtaposition  with  this  fact,  as  though  pinned  on  the 
back  of  it,  his  sister's  overweening  pride  and  pretension.  It 
had  been  the  Major's  threat  for  years  that  he'd  "  take  her 
down  a  peg  one  of  these  days."  But  either  he  was  merci- 
fully unwilling  to  perform  the  act,  or  that  the  suitable  hour 
for  it  had  not  come  ;  but  there  she  remained,  and  there  he 
left  her,  not  taken  down  one  inch,  but  loftier  and  haughtier 
than  ever.  As  the  boat  rounded  the  point  from  -which  the 
cottage  w^as  visible  through  the  trees  and  some  of  the  out- 
houses could  be  descried,  they  reverted  to  the  ruinous  state 
everything  was  falling  into.  "  Straw  is  cheap  enough,  any- 
how," said  the  Major.  "  He  might  put  a  new  thatch  on  that 
cow-house,  and  I  'm  sure  a  brush  of  paint  would  n't  ruin  any 
one."  Oh,  my  dear  reader!  have  you  not  often  heard  —  I 
know  that  I  have  —  such  comments  as  these,  such  reflec- 
tions on  the  indolence  or  indifference  which  only  needed  so 
very  little  to  reform,  done,  too,  without  trouble  or  difficulty, 
habits  that  could  be  corrected,  evil  ways  reformed,  and  ruin- 
ous tendencies  arrested,  all  as  it  were  by  a  "  brush  of  paint," 
or  something  just  as  uncostly? 

"  There  does  n't  seem  to  be  much  doing  here.  Dill,"  said 
M'Cormick,  as  they  landed.  "All  the  boats  are  drawn  up 
ashore.  And  faith !  I  don't  wonder,  that  old  woman  is 
enough  to  frighten  the  fish  out  of  the  river." 

"  Strangers  do  not  always  like  that  sort  of  thing,"  mod- 
estly i-emarked  the  doctor,  —  the  "  always  "  being  peculiarly 
marked  for  emphasis.  "  Some  will  say,  an  inn  should  be  an 
inn." 

"  That's  my  view  of  it.  What  I  say  is  this :  I  want  my 
bit  of  fish,  and  my  beefsteak,  and  my  pint  of  wine,  and  I 
don't  want  to  know  that  the  landlord's  grandfather  enter- 
tained the  king,  or  that  his  aunt  was  a  lady-in-waiting.  '  Be 
as  high  as  you  like,'  says  I,  '  but  don't  make  the  bill  so,'  — 
eh,  Dill?  "  And  he  cackled  the  harsh  ungenial  laugh  which 
seems  the  birthright  of  all  sorry  jesters;  and  the  doctor 
gave  a  little  laugh  too,  more  from  habit,  however,  than 
enjoyment. 

"Do  you  know,  Dill,"  said  the  Major,  disengaging  him- 
self from  the  arm  which  his  lameness  compelled  him  to  lean 


28  BARRINGTON. 

on,  and  standing  still  in  the  pathway,  —  "do  you  know  that 
I  never  reach  thus  far  without  having  a  sort  of  struggle  with 
myself  whether  1  won't  turn  back  and  go  home  again.  Can 
you  explain  that,  now?" 

"It  is  the  wound,  perhaps,  pains  you,  coming  up  the 
hill." 

"  It  is  not  the  wound.     It 's  that  woman  !  " 

"  Miss  Harrington?  " 

"Just  so.  I  have  her  before  me  now,  sitting  up  behind 
the  urn  there,  and  saying,  '  Have  you  had  tea,  Major 
M'Cormick?'  when  she  knows  well  she  did  n't  give  it  to  me. 
Don't  you  feel  that  going  up  to  the  table  for  your  cup  is  for 
all  the  world  like  doing  homage?" 

"  Her  manners  are  cold,  — certainly  cold." 

"  I  wish  they  were.  It's  the  fire  that 's  in  her  I  'm  afraid 
of !     She  has  as  wicked  an  eye  in  her  head  as  ever  I  saw." 

"She  was  greatly  admired  once,  I'm  told;  and  she  has 
many^  remains  of  beauty." 

"Oh!  for  the  matter  of  looks,  there's  worse.  It's  her 
nature,  her  temper,  —  herself,  in  fact,  I  can't  endure." 

"What  is  it  you  can't  endure,  M'Cormick?"  cried  Bar- 
rington,  emerging  from  a  side  walk  where  he  had  just  caught 
the  last  words.  "If  it  be  anything  in  this  poor  place  of 
mine,  let  me  hear,  that  I  may  have  it  amended." 

"How  are  ye,  —  how  are  ye?  "  said  the  Major,  with  a  very 
confused  manner.  "  I  was  talking  politics  with  Dill.  I  was 
telling  him  how  I  hated  them,  Tories." 

"  I  believe  they  are  all  pretty  much  alike,"  said  Barring- 
ton;  "  at  least,  I  knew  they  were  in  my  day.  And  though 
we  used  to  abuse  him,  and  drink  all  kind  of  misfortunes  to 
him  every  day  of  our  lives,  there  was  n't  a  truer  gentleman 
nor  a  finer  fellow  in  Ireland  than  Lord  Castlereagh." 

"I'm  sure  of  it.  I've  often  heard  the  same  remark," 
chimed  in  Dill. 

"It's  a  pity  you  didn't  think  so  at  the  time  of  the 
Union,"  said  M'Cormick,  with  a  sneer. 

' '  Many  of  us  did ;  but  it  would  not  make  us  sell  our 
country.  But  what  need  is  there  of  going  back  to  those 
times,  and  things  that  can't  be  helped  now?  Come  in  and 
have  a  cup  of  tea.     I  see  my  sister  is  waiting  for  us." 


OUR   NEXT   NEIGHBORS. 


29 


Why  was  it  that  Miss  Barrington,  on  that  evening,  was 
grander  and  statelier  than  ever  ?  Was  it  some  anticipation  of 
the  meditated  change  in  their  station  had  impressed  her  man- 
ner with  more  of  pride?  I  know  not;  but  true  it  is  she 
received  her  visitors  with  a  reserve  that  was  actuall}'  chilling. 
To  no  end  did  Barrington  exert  himself  to  conceal  or  coun- 


teract this  frigidity.     In  all  our  moral  chemistry  we    have 
never  yet  hit  upon  an  antidote  to  a  chilling  reception. 

The  doctor  was  used  to  this  freezing  process,  and  did  not 
suffer  like  his  companion.  To  him,  life  was  a  huge  ice-pail; 
but  he  defied  frost-bite,  and  bore  it.  The  Major,  however 
chafed  and  fidgeted  under  the  treatment,  and  muttered  to 
himself  very  vengeful  sentiments  about  that  peg  he  had 
determined  to  take  her  down  from. 


30  BAKRINGTON. 

"I  was  hoping  to  be  able  to  offer  you  a  nosegay,  dear 
lady,"  said  Dill,  — this  was  his  customary  mode  of  address 
to  her,  an  ingenious  blending  of  affection  with  deference, 
but  in  which  the  stronger  accent  on  the  last  word  showed 
the  deference  to  predominate,  —  "  but  the  rain  has  come 
so  late,  there 's  not  a  stock  in  the  garden  fit  to  present  to 
you." 

"  It  is  just  as  well,  sir.     I  detest  gillyflowers." 

The  Major's  eyes  sparkled  with  a  spiteful  delight,  for  he 
was  sorely  jealous  of  the  doctor's  ease  under  difficulties. 

"  We  have,  indeed,  a  few  moss-roses." 

"  None  to  be  compared  to  our  own,  sir.  Do  not  think 
of  it." 

The  Major  felt  that  his  was  not  a  giving  disposition,  and 
consequently  it  exempted  him  from  rubs  and  rebuffs  of  this 
sort.  Meanwhile,  unabashed  by  failure,  the  doctor  essayed 
once  more:  "Mrs.  Dill  is  only  waiting  to  have  the  car 
mended,  to  come  over  and  pay  her  dutiful  respects  to  you, 
Miss  Dinah." 

"Pray  tell  her  not  to  mind  it,  Dr.  Dill,"  replied  she, 
sharply,  "  or  to  wait  till  the  fourth  of  next  month,  which 
will  make  it  exactly  a  year  since  her  last  visit ;  and  her  call 
can  be  then  an  annual  one,  like  the  tax-gatherer's." 

"  Bother  them  for  taxes  altogether,"  chimed  in  Barriugton, 
whose  ear  only  caught  the  last  word.  "You  haven't  done 
with  the  county  cess  when  there  's  a  fellow  at  you  for  tithes  ; 
and  they're  talking  of  a  poor-rate." 

"  You  may  perceive.  Dr.  Dill,  that  your  medicines  have 
not  achieved  a  great  success  against  my  brother's  deafness." 

"We  were  all  so  at  Walcheren,"  broke  in  M'Cormick; 
"  when  we  'd  come  out  of  the  trenches,  we  could  n't  hear  for 
hours." 

"  My  voice  may  be  a  shrill  one,  Major  M'Cormick,  but 
I'll  have  you  to  believe  that  it  has  not  destroyed  my 
brother's  tympanum." 

"It's  not  the  tympanum  is  engaged,  dear  lady;  it's  the 
Eustachian  tube  is  the  cause  here.  There's  a  passage  leads 
down  from  the  internal  ear  —  " 

"  I  declare,  sir,  I  have  just  as  little  taste  for  anatomy  as 
for  fortification ;  and  though  I  sincerely  wish  you  could  cure 


OUR  NEXT  NEIGHBORS.  31 

my  brother,  as  I  also  wish  these  gentlemen  could  have  taken 
Walcheren,  I  have  not  the  slightest  desire  to  know  how." 

"  I  '11  beg  a  little  more  tea  in  this,  ma'am,"  said  the  Major, 
holding  out  his  cup. 

"Do  you  mean  water,  sir?  Did  you  say  it  was  too 
strong?  " 

"  With  your  leave,  I  '11  take  it  a  trifle  stronger,"  said  he, 
with  a  malicious  twinkle  in  his  eye,  for  he  knew  all  the 
offence  his  speech  implied. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Major  M'Cormick.  I'm 
happy  to  know  that  your  nerves  are  stronger  than  at  the 
time  of  that  expedition  you  quote  with  such  pleasure.  Is 
yours  to  your  liking,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  '11  ask  for  some  water,  dear  lady,"  broke  in  Dill,  who 
began  to  think  that  the  fire  was  hotter  than  usual.  "  As  I 
said  to  Mrs.  Dill,  '  Molly,'  says  I,  '  how  is  it  that  I  never 
drink  such  tea  anywhere  as  at  the  — '"  He  stopped,  for  he 
was  going  to  say,  the  Harringtons',  and  he  trembled  at  the 
liberty ;  and  he  dared  not  say  the  Fisherman's  Home,  lest  it 
should  be  thought  he  was  recalling  their  occupation  ;  and  so, 
after  a  pause  and  a  cough,  he  stammered  out  —  "  'at  the 
sweet  cottage.' "  Nor  was  his  confusion  the  less  at  per- 
ceiving how  she  had  appreciated  his  difficulty,  and  was 
smiling  at  it. 

"Very  few  strangers  in  these  parts  lately,  I  believe," 
said  M'  Cormick,  who  knew  that  his  remark  was  a  danger- 
ous one. 

"I  fancy  none,  sir,"  said  she,  calmly.  ""W"e,  at  least, 
have  no  customers,  if  that  be  the  name  for  them." 

"It's  natural,  indeed,  dear  lady,  you  shouldn't  know 
how  they  are  called,"  began  the  doctor,  in  a  fawning  tone, 
"reared  and  brought  up  as  you  were." 

The  cold,  steady  stare  of  Miss  Barrington  arrested  his 
speech;  and  though  he  made  immense  efforts  to  recover 
himself,  there  was  that  in  her  look  which  totally  overcame 
him.  "Sit  down  to  your  rubber,  sir,"  said  she,  in  a  whis- 
per that  seemed  to  thrill  through  his  veins.  "You  will  find 
yourself  far  more  at  home  at  the  odd  trick  there,  than 
attempting  to  console  me  about  my  lost  honors."  And 
with  this  fierce  admonition,  she  gave  a  little  nod,  half  in 


32  BARRINGTON. 

adieu,  half  in  admonitiou,  and  swept  haughtily  out  of  the 
room. 

M'Cormick  heaved  a  sigh  as  the  door  closed  after  her, 
"which  very  plainly  bespoke  how  much  he  felt  the  relief. 

"My  poor  sister  is  a  bit  out  of  spirits  this  evening,"  said 
Harrington,  who  merely  saw  a  certain  show  of  constraint 
over  his  company,  and  never  guessed  the  cause.  "We've 
had  some  unpleasant  letters,  and  one  thing  or  another  to 
annoy  us,  and  if  she  does  n't  join  us  at  supper,  you  '11  excuse 
her,  I  know,  M'Cormick." 

"That  we  will,  with  —  "  He  was  going  to  add,  "with  a 
heart  and  a  half,"  for  he  felt,  what  to  him  was  a  rare 
sentiment,  "gratitude;"  but  Dill  chimed  in,  — 

"Of  course,  we  couldn't  expect  she'd  appear.  I  re- 
marked she  was  nervous  when  we  came  in.  I  saw  an  ex- 
pression in  her  eye  —  " 

"So  did  I,  faith,"  muttered  M'Cormick,  "and  I'm  not 
a  doctor." 

"And  here  's  our  whist- table,"  said  Barrington,  bustling 
about;  "and  there  's  a  bit  of  supper  ready  there  for  us  in 
that  room,  and  we  '11  help  ourselves,  for  I  've  sent  Darby  to 
"bed.  And  now  give  me  a  hand  with  these  cards,  for  they  've 
all  got  mixed  together." 

Barrington's  task  was  the  very  wearisome  one  of  trying 
to  sort  out  an  available  pack  from  some  half-dozen  of 
various  sizes  and  colors. 

"Isn't  this  for  all  the  world  like  raising  a  regiment  out 
of  twenty  volunteer  corps?"  said  M'Cormick. 

"Dill  would  call  it  an  hospital  of  incurables,"  said  Bar- 
rington. "Have  you  got  a  knave  of  spades  and  a  seven? 
Oh  dear,  dear!  the  knave,  with  the  head  off  him!  I  begin 
to  suspect  we  must  look  up  a  new  pack."  There  was  a 
tone  of  misgiving  in  the  way  he  said  this ;  for  it  implied  a 
reference  to  his  sister,  and  all  its  consequences.  Affecting 
to  search  for  new  cards  in  his  own  room,  therefore,  he  arose 
and  went  out. 

"I  wouldn't  live  in  a  slavery  like  that,"  muttered  the 
Major,  "to  be  King  of  France." 

"Something  has  occurred  here.  There  is  some  latent 
source  of  irritation,"  said  Dill,  cautiously.     "Barrington's 


OUR  NEXT  NEIGHBORS.  83 

own  manner  is  fidgety  and  uneasy.     I  have  my  suspicion 
matters  are  going  on  but  poorly  with  them." 

Wliile  this  sage  diagnosis  was  being  uttered,  M'Corniick 
had  taken  a  short  excursion  into  the  adjoining  room,  from 
which  he  returned,  eating  a  pickled  onion.  "It 's  the  old 
story ;  the  cold  roast  loin  and  the  dish  of  salad.  Listen ! 
Did  you  hear  that  shout?  " 

"I  thought  I  heard  one  awhile  back;  but  I  fancied  after- 
wards it  was  only  the  noise  of  the  river  over  the  stones." 

"It  is  some  fellows  drawing  the  river;  thc}^  poach  under 
his  very  windows,  and  he  never  sees  them." 

"I  'm  afraid  we  're  not  to  have  our  rubber  this  evening," 
said  Dill,  mournfully. 

"There 's  a  thing,  now,  I  don't  understand!  "  said  M'Cor- 
mick,  in  a  low  but  bitter  voice.  "No  man  is  obliged  to 
see  company,  but  when  he  does  do  it,  he  ought  n't  to  be 
running  about  for  a  tumbler  here  and  a  mustard-pot  there. 
There's  the  noise  again;  it's  fellows  robbing  the  salmon- 
weir!" 

"No  rubber  to-night,  I  perceive  that,"  reiterated  the  doc- 
tor, still  intent  upon  the  one  theme. 

"A  thousand  pardons  I  ask  from  each  of  you,"  cried  Bar- 
rington,  coming  hurriedly  in,  with  a  somewhat  flushed  face ; 
"but  I  've  had  such  a  hunt  for  these  cards.  When  I  put  a 
thing  away  nowadays,  it 's  as  good  as  gone  to  me,  for  I 
remember  nothing.     But  here  we  are,  now,  all  right." 

The  party,  like  men  eager  to  retrieve  lost  time,  were 
soon  deep  in  their  game,  very  little  being  uttered,  save 
such  remarks  as  the  contest  called  for.  The  Major  was  of 
that  order  of  players  who  firmly  believe  foi'tune  will  desert 
them  if  they  don't  whine  and  complain  of  their  luck,  and 
so  everything  from  him  was  a  lamentation.  The  doctor, 
who  regarded  whist  pathologically,  no  more  gave  up  a 
game  than  he  would  a  patient.  He  had  witnessed  marvel- 
lous recoveries  in  the  most  hopeless  cases,  and  he  had  been 
rescued  by  a  "revoke"  in  the  last  hour.  Unlike  each, 
Barrington  was  one  who  liked  to  chat  over  his  game,  as  he 
would  over  his  wine.  Xot  that  he  took  little  interest  in  it, 
but  it  had  no  power  to  absorb  and  engross  him.  If  a  man 
derive  very  great  pleasure  froin  a  pastime  in  which,  after 

VOL.   I.  —  3 


34  BARRDsGTON. 

years  and  years  of  practice,  he  can  attain  no  eminence  nor 
any  mastery,  you  may  be  almost  certain  he  is  one  of  an 
amiable  temperament.  Nothing  short  of  real  goodness  of 
nature  could  go  on  deriving  enjoyment  from  a  pursuit  asso- 
ciated with  continual  defeats.  Such  a  one  must  be  hopeful, 
he  must  be  submissive,  he  must  have  no  touch  of  ungener- 
ous jealousy  in  his  nature,  and,  withal,  a  zealous  wish  to  do 
better.  Now  he  who  can  be  all  these,  in  anything,  is  no 
bad  fellow. 

If  Barrington,  therefore,  was  beaten,  he  bore'  it  well. 
Cards  were  often  enough  against  him,  his  play  was  always 
so;  and  though  the  doctor  had  words  of  bland  consolation 
for  disaster,  such  as  the  habits  of  his  craft  taught  him,  the 
Major  was  a  pitiless  adversary,  who  never  omitted  the 
opportunity  of  disinterring  all  his  opponents'  blunders,  and 
singing  a  song  of  triumph  over  them.  But  so  it  is,  —  tot 
genera  hominum,  —  so  many  kinds  of  whist-players  are 
there ! 

Hour  after  hour  went  over,  and  it  was  late  in  the  night. 
None  felt  disposed  to  sup;  at  least,  none  proposed  it. 
The  stakes  were  small,  it  is  true,  but  small  things  are  great 
to  little  men,  and  Barrington's  guests  Avere  always  the 
winners. 

"I  believe  if  I  was  to  be  a  good  player,  — which  I  know 
in  my  heart  I  never  shall,"  said  Barrington,  — "that  my 
luck  would  swamp  me,  after  all.  Look  at  that  hand  now, 
and  say  is  there  a  trick  in  it?"  As  he  said  this,  he  spread 
out  the  cards  of  his  "dummy"  on  the  table,  with  the  dis- 
consolation  of  one  thoroughly  beaten. 

"Well,  it  might  be  worse,"  said  Dill,  consolingly. 
"There  's  a  queen  of  diamonds;  and  I  would  n't  say,  if  you 
could  get  an  opportunity  to  trump  the  club  —  " 

"Let  him  try  it,"  broke  in  the  merciless  Major;  "let 
him  just  try  it!  My  name  isn't  Dan  M'Cormick  if  he  '11 
win  one  card  in  that  hand.  There,  now,  I  lead  the  ace 
of  clubs.     Play!" 

"Patience,  Major,  patience;  let  me  look  over  my  hand. 
I  'm  bad  enough  at  the  best,  but  I  '11  be  worse  if  you  hurry 
me.     Is  that  a  king  or  a  knave  I  see  there?  " 

"It 's  neither;  it 's  the  queen!  "  barked  out  the  Major. 


OUR  NEXT  NEIGHBORS. 


35 


"Doctor,  you  '11  have  to  look  after  my  eyes  as  well  as  my 
ears.  Indeed,  I  scarcely  kuow  which  is  the  worst.  Was 
not  that  a  voice  outside? " 

"I  should  think  it  was;  there  have  been  fellows  shouting 
there  the  whole  evening.  I  suspect  they  don't  leave  you 
many  fish  in  this  part  of  the  river." 


"I  beg  your  pardon,"  interposed  Dill,  blandly,  "but 
you  've  taken  up  my  card  by  mistake." 

While  Barrington  was  excusing  himself,  and  trying  to 
recover  his  lost  clew  to  the  game,  there  came  a  violent 
knocking  at  the  door,  and  a  loud  voice  called  out,  "Holloa! 
Will  some  of  ye  open  the  door,  or  must  I  put  my  foot 
through  it  ? " 


36  BARRLNGTON. 

''There  is  somebody  there,"  said  Barrington,  quietly, 
for  he  had  uow  caught  the  words  correctly;  and  taking  a 
candle,  he  hastened  out. 

"At  last,"  cried  a  stranger,  as  the  door  opened, — "at 
last!  Do  you  know  that  we 've  been  full  twenty  minutes 
here,  listening  to  your  animated  discussion  over  the  odd 
trick?  —  I  fainting  with  hunger,  and  my  friend  with  paiii." 
And  so  saying,  he  assisted  another  to  limp  forward,  who 
leaned  on  his  arm  and  moved  with  the  greatest  difficulty. 

The  mere  sight  of  one  in  suffering  repressed  any  notion 
of  a  rejoinder  to  his  somewhat  rude  speech,  and  Barrington 
led  the  way  into  the  room. 

"Have  you  met  with  an  accident?"  asked  he,  as  he 
placed  the  sufferer  on  a  sofa. 

"Yes,"  interposed  the  first  speaker;  "he  slipped  down 
one  of  those  rocks  into  the  river,  and  has  sprained,  if  he 
.has  not  broken,  something." 

"It  is  our  good  fortune  to  have  advice  here;  this  gentle- 
man is  a  doctor." 

"Of  the  Royal  College,  and  an  M.D.  of  Aberdeen,  be- 
sides," said  Dill,  with  a  professional  smile,  while,  turning 
back  his  cuffs,  he  proceeded  to  remove  the  shoe  and  stock- 
ing of  his  patient. 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  hurting,  but  just  tell  me  at  once 
what's  the  matter,"  said  the  young  fellow,  down  whose 
cheeks  great  drops  were  rolling  in  his  agony. 

"There  is  no  pronouncing  at  once;  there  is  great  tume- 
faction here.  It  may  be  a  mere  sprain,  or  it  may  be  a  frac- 
ture of  the  fibula  simple,  or  a  fracture  with  luxation." 

"Well,  if  you  can't  tell  the  injury,  tell  us  what 's  to  be 
done  for  it.  Get  him  to  bed,  I  suppose,  first?"  said  the 
friend. 

"By  all  means,  to  bed,  and  cold  applications  on  the 
affected  part." 

"Here  's  a  room  all  ready,  and  at  hand,"  said  Barrington, 
opening  the  door  into  a  little  chamber  replete  with  comfort 
and  propriety. 

"Come,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "Fred,  all  this  is  very 
snug;  one  might  have  fallen  upon  worse  quarters."  And 
so  saying,  he  assisted  his  friend  forward,  and  deposited 
him  upon  the  bed. 


OUR  NEXT  NEIGHBORS,  37 

While  the  doctor  busied  himself  with  the  medical  cares 
for  his  patient,  and  arranged  with  due  skill  the  appliances 
to  relieve  his  present  suffering,  the  other  stranger  related 
how  they  had  lost  their  way,  having  iirst  of  all  taken  the 
wrong  bank  of  the  river,  and  been  obliged  to  retrace  their 
steps  upwards  of  three  miles  to  retrieve  their  mistake. 

"Where  were  you  going  to?"  asked  Barrington. 

"We  were  in  search  of  a  little  inn  they  had  told  us  of, 
called  the  '  Fisherman's  Home. '  I  conclude  we  have  reached 
it  at  last,  and  you  are  the  host,  I  take  it?" 

Barrington  bowed  assent. 

"And  these  gentlemen  are  visitors  here?"  But  without 
waiting  for  any  reply,  —  difficult  at  all  times,  for  he  spoke 
with  great  rapidity  and  continual  change  of  topic,  —  he  now 
stooped  down  to  whisper  something  to  the  sick  man.  "My 
friend  thinks  he  '11  do  capitally  now,  and,  if  we  leave  him, 
that  he'll  soon  drop  asleep;  so  I  vote  we  give  him  the 
chance."  Thus  saying,  he  made  a  gesture  for  the  others  to 
leave,  following  them  up  as  they  went,  almost  like  one 
enforcing  an  order. 

"If  I  am  correct  in  my  reading,  you  are  a  soldier,  sir," 
said  Barrington,  when  they  reached  the  outer  room,  "and 
this  gentleman  here  is  a  brother  officer, — Major  M'Cor- 
mick." 

"Full  pay,  eh?" 

"No,  I  am  an  old  Walcheren  man." 

"Walcheren  —  Walcheren — -why,  that  sounds  like  Mal- 
plaquet  or  Blenheim!  Where  the  deuce  was  Walcheren? 
Did  n't  believe  that  there  was  an  old  tumbril  of  that  affair 
to  the  fore  still.  You  were  all  licked  there,  or  yon  died  of 
the  ague,  or  jaundice?  Oh,  dummy  whist,  as  I  live! 
Who  's  the  unlucky  dog  has  got  the  dummy?  —  bad  as  Wal- 
cheren, by  Jove!  Isn't  that  a  supper  I  see  laid  out  there? 
Don't  I  smell  Stilton  from  that  room?  " 

"If  you  '11  do  us  the  honor  to  join  us  —  " 

"That  I  will,  and  astonish  you  with  an  appetite  too! 
We  breakfasted  at  a  beastly  hole  called  Graigue,  and  tasted 
nothing  since,  except  a  few  peaches  I  stole  out  of  an  old 
fellow's  garden  on  the  riverside,  — *  Old  Dan  the  miser,'  a 
country  fellow  called  him." 


38  BARRINGTON. 

"I  have  the  honor  to  have  afforded  you  the  entertainment 
you  speak  of,"  said  M'Cormiek,  smarting  with  anger. 

"All  right!  The  peaches  were  excellent, — would  have 
been  better  if  riper.  I  'm  afraid  I  smashed  a  window  of 
yours ;  it  was  a  stone  I  shied  at  a  confounded  dog,  —  a  sort 
of  terrier.  Pickled  onions  and  walnuts,  by  all  that 's  civil- 
ized! And  so  this  is  the  '  Fisherman's  Home,'  and  you  the 
iisherman,  eh?  Well,  why  not  show  a  light  or  a  lantern 
over  the  door?  Who  the  deuce  is  to  know  that  this  is  a 
place  of  entertainment?     We  only  guessed  it  at  last." 

"May  I  help  you  to  some  mutton?  "  said  Barrington,  more 
amused  than  put  out  by  his  guest's  discursiveness. 

"By  all  means.  But  don't  carve  it  that  way;  cut  it 
lengthwise,  as  if  it  were  the  saddle,  which  it  ought  to  have 
been.  You  must  tell  me  where  you  got  this  sherry.  I  have 
tasted  nothing  like  it  for  many  a  day,  —  real  brown  sherry. 
I  suppose  you  know  how  they  brown  it?  It's  not  done  by 
sugar,  —  that 's  a  vulgar  error.  It 's  done  by  boiling ;  they 
boil  down  so  many  butts  and  reduce  them  to  about  a  fourth 
or  a  fifth.  You  haven't  got  any  currant-jelly,  have  you?  it 
is  just  as  good  with  cold  mutton  as  hot.  And  then  it  is  the 
wine  thus  reduced  they  use  for  coloring  matter.  I  got  up 
all  my  sherry  experiences  on  the  spot." 

"The  wine  you  approve  of  has  been  in  my  cellar  about 
five-and-forty  years." 

"It  would  not  if  I  'd  have  been  your  neighbor,  rely  upon 
that.  I'd  have  secured  every  bottle  of  it  for  our  mess; 
and  mind,  whatever  remains  of  it  is  mine." 

"Might  I  make  bold  to  remark,"  said  Dill,  inter- 
posing, "that  we  are  the  guests  of  my  friend  here  on  this 
occasion?  " 

"Eh,  what, —guests?" 

"I  am  proud  enough  to  believe  that  you  will  not  refuse 
me  the  honor  of  your  company;  for  though  an  innkeeper, 
I  write  myself  gentleman,"  said  Barrington,  blandly, 
though  not  without  emotion. 

"I  should  think  you  might,"  broke  in  the  stranger,  heart- 
ily; "and  I'd  say  the  man  who  had  a  doubt  about  your 
claims  had  very  little  of  his  own.  And  now  a  word  of 
apology  for  the  mode  of  our  entrance  here,  and  to  introduce 


OUE  XEXT  NEIGHBORS.  39 

myself.  I  am  Colonel  Hunter,  of  the  21st  Hussars;  ni}' 
friend  is  a  young  subaltern  of  the  regiment." 

A  moment  before,  and  all  the  awkwardness  of  his  posi- 
tion was  painful  to  Barrington.  He  felt  that  the  traveller 
was  there  by  a  right,  free  to  order,  condemn,  and  criticise 
as  he  pleased.  The  few  words  of  explanation,  given  in  all 
the  frankness  of  a  soldier,  and  with  the  tact  of  a  gentle- 
man, relieved  this  embarrassment,  and  he  was  himself 
again.  As  for  M'Cormiek  and  Dill,  the  mere  announce- 
ment of  the  regiment  he  commanded  seemed  to  move  and 
impress  them.  It  was  one  of  those  corps  especially  known 
in  the  service  for  the  rank  and  fortune  of  its  officers.  The 
Prince  himself  was  their  colonel,  and  they  had  acquired  a 
wide  notoriety  for  exclusiveness  and  pride,  which,  when 
treated  by  unfriendly  critics,  assumed  a  shape  less  favor- 
able still. 

Colonel  Hunter,  if  he  were  to  be  taken  as  a  type  of  his 
regiment,  might  have  rebutted  a  good  deal  of  this  floating 
criticism ;  he  had  a  fine  honest  countenance,  a  rich  mellow 
voice,  and  a  sort  of  easy  jollity  in  manner,  that  spoke  well 
both  for  his  spirits  and  his  temper.  He  did,  it  is  true, 
occasionally  chafe  against  some  susceptible  spot  or  other  of 
those  around  him,  but  there  was  no  malice  prepense  in  it, 
any  more  than  there  is  intentional  offence  in  the  passage  of 
a  sti'ong  man  through  a  crowd ;  so  he  elbowed  his  way,  and 
pushed  on  in  conversation,  never  so  much  as  suspecting 
that  he  jostled  any  one  in  his  path. 

Both  Barrington  and  Hunter  were  inveterate  sportsmen, 
and  they  ranged  over  hunting-fields  and  grouse  mountains 
and  parti'idge  stubble  and  trout  streams  with  all  the  zest 
of  men  who  feel  a  sort  of  mesmeric  brotherhood  in  the 
interchange  of  their  experiences.  Long  after  the  Major 
and  the  doctor  had  taken  their  leave,  they  sat  there  recount- 
ing stories  of  their  several  adventures,  and  recalling  inci- 
dents of  flood  and  field. 

In  return  for  a  cordial  invitation  to  Hunter  to  stay  and 
fish  the  river  for  some  days,  Barrington  pledged  himself 
to  visit  the  Colonel  the  first  time  he  should  go  up  to 
Kilkenny. 

"And  I'll  mount  you.     You  shall  have  a  horse  I  never 


40  BARRINGTON. 

lent  in  my  life.  I  '11  put  you  on  Trumpeter,  —  sire  Sir  Her- 
cules, —  no  mistake  there ;  would  carry  sixteen  stone  with 
the  fastest  hounds  in  England." 

Barrington  shook  his  head,  and  smiled,  as  he  said,  "It's 
two-and-twenty  years  since  I  sat  a  fence.  I  'm  afraid  I  '11 
not  revive  the  fame  of  my  horsemanship  by  appearing 
again  in  the  saddle." 

"Why,  what  age  do  you  call  yourself?" 

"Eighty- three,  if  I  live  to  August  next." 

"I  'd  not  have  guessed  you  within  ten  years  of  it.  I  've 
just  passed  fifty,  and  already  I  begin  to  look  for  a  horse 
with  more  bone  beneath  the  knee,  and  more  substance  across 
the  loins." 

"These  are  only  premonitory  symptoms,  after  all,"  said 
Barrington,  laughing.  "You've  many  a  day  before  you 
come  to  a  fourteen-haud  cob  and  a  kitchen  chair  to  mount 
him." 

Hunter  laughed  at  the  picture,  and  dashed  away,  in  his 
own  half-reckless  way,  to  other  topics.  He  talked  of  his 
regiment  proudly,  and  told  Barrington  what  a  splendid  set 
of  young  fellows  were  his  officers.  "I'll  show  you  such  a 
mess,"  said  he,  "as  no  corps  in  the  service  can  match." 
"While  he  talked  of  their  high-hearted  and  generous  natures, 
and  with  enthusiasm  of  the  life  of  a  soldier,  Barrington  could 
scarcely  refrain  from  speaking  of  his  own  "boy,"  the  son 
from  whom  he  had  hoped  so  much,  and  whose  loss  had  been 
the  death-blow  to  all  his  ambitions.  There  were,  however, 
circumstances  in  that  story  which  sealed  his  lips ;  and  though 
the  father  never  believed  one  syllable  of  the  allegations 
against  his  son,  though  he  had  paid  the  penalty  of  a  King's 
Bench  mandamus  and  imprisonment  for  horsewhipping  the 
editor  who  had  aspersed  his  "boy,"  the  world  and  the  world's 
verdict  were  against  him,  and  he  did  not  dare  to  revive  the 
memory  of  a  name  against  which  all  the  severities  of  the 
press  had  been  directed,  and  public  opinion  had  condemned 
with  all  its  weight  and  power. 

"I  see  that  I  am  wearying  you,"  said  Hunter,  as  he 
remarked  the  grave  and  saddened  expression  that  now  stole 
over  Barrington' s  face.  "I  ought  to  have  remembered 
what  an  hour  it  was, — more  than  half-past   two."      And 


OUR  NEXT  NEIGHBORS.  41 

without  waiting  to  hear  a  reply,  he  shook  his  host's  hand 
cordially  and  hurried  off  to  his  room. 

"While  Barrington  busied  himself  in  locking  up  the  wine, 
and  putting  awaj'  half-finished  decanters,  —  cares  that  his 
sister's  watchfulness  very  imperatively  exacted,  — he  heard, 
or  fancied  he  heard,  a  voice  from  the  room  where  the  sick 
man  lay.     He  opened  the  door  very  gently  and  looked  in. 

"All  right,"  said  the  youth.  "I  'm  not  asleep,  nor  did 
I  want  to  sleep,  for  I  have  been  listening  to  you  and  the 
Colonel  these  two  hours,  and  with  rare  pleasure,  I  can  tell 
you.  The  Colonel  would  have  gone  a  hundred  miles  to  meet 
a  man  like  yourself,  so  fond  of  the  field  and  such  a  thor- 
ough sportsman." 

"Yes,  I  was  so  once,"  sighed  Barrington,  for  already  had 
come  a  sort  of  reaction  to  the  late  excitement. 

"Isn't  the  Colonel  a  fine  fellow?"  said  the  young  man, 
as  eager  to  relieve  the  awkwardness  of  a  sad  theme  as  to 
praise  one  he  loved.     "Don't  you  like  him? " 

"That  I  do!"  said  Barrington,  heartily.  "His  fine 
genial  spirit  has  put  me  in  better  temper  with  myself  than 
I  fancied  was  in  my  nature  to  be.  We  are  to  have  some 
trout-fishing  together,  and  I  promise  you  it  sha'u't  be  my 
fault  if  he  does  n't  like  me." 

"And  may  I  be  of  the  party?  —  may  I  go  with  you?  " 

"Only  get  well  of  your  accident,  and  you  shall  do  what- 
ever you  like.  By  the  way,  did  not  Colonel  Hunter  serve 
in  India?  " 

"For  fifteen  years.  He  has  only  left  Bengal  within  a 
few  months." 

"Then  he  can  probably  help  me  to  some  information. 
He  may  be  able  to  tell  me —  Good-night,  good-night," 
said  he,  hurriedly;  "to-moiTow will  be  time  enough  to  think 
of  this." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FRED   CONTERS. 

Very  soon  after  daybreak  the  Colonel  was  up  and  at  the 
bedside  of  his  3'ouug  friend. 

"Sorry  to  wake  you,  Fred,"  said  he,  gently;  "but  I  have 
just  got  an  urgent  despatch,  requiring  me  to  set  out  at  once 
for  Dublin,  and  I  did  n't  like  to  go  without  asking  how  you 
get  on." 

"Oh,  much  better,  sir.  I  can  move  the  foot  a  little,  and 
I  feel  assured  it's  only  a  severe  sprain." 

"That 's  all  right.  Take  your  own  time,  and  don't 
attempt  to  move  about  too  early.  You  are  in  capital  quar- 
ters here,  and  will  be  well  looked  after.  There  is  only  one 
difficulty,  and  I  don't  exactly  see  how  to  deal  with  it.  Our 
host  is  a  reduced  gentleman,  brought  down  to  keep  au  inn 
for  support,  but  what  benefit  he  can  derive  from  it  is  not 
so  very  clear;  for  wheo  I  asked  the  man  who  fetched  me  hot 
water  this  morning  for  my  bill,  he  replied  that  his  master 
told  him  I  was  to  be  his  guest  here  for  a  week,  and  not  on 
any  account  to  accept  money  from  me.  Ireland  is  a  very 
strange  place,  and  we  are  learning  something  new  in  it  every 
day;  but  this  is  the  strangest  thing  I  have  met  yet." 

"In  my  case  this  would  be  impossible.  I  must  of  neces- 
sity give  a  deal  of  trouble,  —  not  to  say  that  it  would  add 
unspeakably  to  my  annoyance  to  feel  that  I  could  not  ask 
freely  for  what  I  wanted." 

"I  have  no  reason  to  suppose,  mind  you,  that  you  are 
to  be  dealt  with  as  I  have  been,  but  it  would  be  well  to 
bear  in  mind  who  and  what  these  people  are." 

"And  get  away  from  them  as  soon  as  possible,"  added 
the  young  fellow,  half  peevishl3^ 


FRED  CONYERS.  43 

"Nay,  nay,  Fred;  dou't  be  impatient.  You'll  be  de- 
lighted with  the  old  fellow,  who  is  a  heart-aud-soul  sports- 
man. What  station  he  once  occupied  I  can't  guess;  but  in 
the  remarks  he  makes  about  horses  and  hounds,  all  his  know- 
ing hints  on  stable  management  and  the  treatment  of  young 
cattle,  one  would  say  that  he  must  have  had  a  large  fortune 
and  kept  a  large  establishment." 

In  the  half  self-sufficient  toss  of  the  head  which  received 
this  speech,  it  was  plain  that  the  young  man  thought  his 
Colonel  was  easily  imposed  on,  and  that  such  pretensions 
as  these  would  have  ver}-  little  success  with  him. 

"I  have  no  doubt  some  of  your  brother  officers  will  take 
a  run  down  to  see  how  you  get  on,  and,  if  so,  I  '11  send  over 
a  hamper  of  wine,  or  something  of  the  kind,  that  you  can 
manage  to  make  him  accept." 

"It  will  not  be  very  difficult,  I  opine,"  said  the  young 
man,  laughingly. 

"No,  no,"  rejoined  the  other,  misconstruing  the  drift  of 
his  words.  "You  have  plenty  of  tact,  Fred.  You  '11  do  the 
thing  with  all  due  delicacy.  And  now,  good-bye.  Let  me 
hear  how  you  fare  here."  And  with  a  hearty  farewell  they 
parted. 

There  was  none  astir  in  the  cottage  but  Darby  as  the 
Colonel  set  out  to  gain  the  high-road,  where  the  post-horses 
awaited  him.  From  Darby,  however,  as  he  went  along,  he 
gathered  much  of  his  host's  former  history.  It  was  with 
astonishment  he  learned  that  the  splendid  house  of  Barring- 
ton  Hall,  where  he  had  been  dining  with  an  earl  a  few 
days  ago,  was  the  old  family  seat  of  that  poor  innkeeper; 
that  the  noble  deer-park  had  once  acknowledged  him  for 
master.  "And  will  again,  plase  God!"  burst  in  Darby, 
who  thirsted  for  an  opportunity  to  launch  out  into  law, 
and  all  its  bright  hopes  and  prospects. 

"We  have  a  record  on  trial  in  Trinity  Term,  and  an  argu- 
ment before  the  twelve  Judges,  and  the  case  is  as  plain  as 
the  nose  on  your  honor's  face;  for  it  was  ruled  by  Chief 
Baron  Medge,  in  the  great  cause  of  '  Peter  against  Todd, 
a  widow,'  that  a  settlement  couldn't  be  broke  by  an 
esti-eat." 

"You  are  quite  a  lawyer,  I  see,"  said  the  Colonel. 


44  BARRINGTON. 

"I  wish  I  was.  I  'd  rather  be  a  judge  on  the  bench  than 
a  king  on  his  throne." 

"And  yet  I  am  beginning  to  suspect  law  may  have  cost 
your  master  dearly." 

"It  is  not  ten,  or  twenty  —  no,  nor  thirty  —  thousand 
pounds  would  see  him  through  it!"  said  Darby,  with  a 
triumph  in  his  tone  that  seemed  to  proclaim  a  very  proud 
declaration.  "There  's  families  would  be  comfortable  for 
life  with  just  what  we  spent  upon  special  juries." 

"Well,  as  you  tell  me  he  has  no  family,  the  injury  has 
been  all  his  own." 

"That's  true.  We're  the  last  of  the  ould  stock,"  said 
he,  sorrowfully;  and  little  more  passed  between  them,  till 
the  Colonel,  on  parting,  put  a  couple  of  guineas  in  his  hand, 
and  enjoined  him  to  look  after  the  young  friend  he  had  left 
behind  him. 

It  is  now  my  task  to  inti'oduce  this  young  gentleman  to 
my  readers.  Frederick  Conyers,  a  cornet  in  his  Majesty's 
Hussars,  was  the  only  son  of  a  very  distinguished  officer, 
Lieutenant-General  Conyers,  a  man  who  had  not  alone 
served  with  great  reputation  in  the  field,  but  held  offices  of 
high  political  trust  in  India,  the  country  where  all  his  life 
had  been  passed.  Holding  a  high  station  as  a  political 
resident  at  a  native  court,  wielding  great  power,  and  sur- 
rounded by  an  undeviating  homage.  General  Conyers  saw 
his  son  growing  up  to  manhood  with  everything  that  could 
foster  pride  and  minister  to  self-exaltation  around  him.  It 
was  not  alone  the  languor  and  indolence  of  an  Eastern  life 
that  he  had  to  dread  for  him,  but  the  haughty  temper  and 
overbearing  spirit  so  sure  to  come  out  of  habits  of  domina- 
tion in  very  early  life. 

Though  he  had  done  all  that  he  could  to  educate  his  son, 
by  masters  brought  at  immense  cost  from  Europe,  the  really 
important  element  of  education,  —  the  self-control  and  re- 
spect for  other's  rights,  — only  to  be  acquired  by  daily  life 
and  intercourse  with  equals,  this  he  could  not  supply ;  and 
he  saw,  at  last,  that  the  project  he  had  so  long  indulged,  of 
keeping  his  son  with  him,  must  be  abandoned.  Perhaps 
the  rough  speech  of  an  old  comrade  helped  to  dispel  the 
illusion,  as  he  asked,  "Are  j'ou  bringing  up  that  boy  to  be 


FRED  CONYERS.  45 

a  Rajah?  "  His  first  thought  was  to  send  him  to  one  of  the 
Universities,  his  great  desire  being  that  the  young  man 
should  feel  some  ambition  for  public  life  and  its  distinc- 
tious.  He  bethought  him,  however,  that  while  the  youth  of 
Oxford  and  Cambridge  enter  upon  a  college  career,  trained 
by  all  the  discipline  of  our  public  schools,  Fred  would 
approach  the  ordeal  without  any  such  preparation  what- 
ever. AVithout  one  to  exert  authority  over  him,  little  accus- 
tomed to  the  exercise  of  self-restraint,  the  experiment  was 
too  perilous. 

To  place  him,  therefore,  where,  from  the  very  nature  of 
his  position,  some  guidance  and  control  would  be  exercised, 
and  where  by  the  working  of  that  model  democracy  —  a 
mess  —  he  would  be  taught  to  repress  self-sufficiency  and 
presumption,  he  determined  on  the  army,  and  obtained  a 
cornetcy  in  a  regiment  commanded  by  one  who  had  long 
ser^'ed  on  his  own  staff.  To  most  young  fellows  such  an 
opening  in  life  would  have  seemed  all  that  was  delightful 
and  enjoyable.  To  be  just  twenty,  gazetted  to  a  splendid 
cavalry  corps,  with  a  father  rich  enough  and  generous 
enough  to  say,  "Live  like  the  men  about  you,  and  don't 
be  afraid  that  your  checks  will  come  back  to  you,"  these 
are  great  aids  to  a  very  pleasant  existence.  Whether  the 
enervation  of  that  life  of  Oriental  indulgence  had  now 
become  a  nature  to  him,  or  whether  he  had  no  liking  for  the 
service  itself,  or  whether  the  change  from  a  condition  of 
almost  princely  state  to  a  position  of  mere  equality  with 
others,  chafed  and  irritated  him,  but  so  is  it,  he  did  not 
"take  to"  the  regiment,  nor  the  regiment  to  him. 

Now  it  is  a  fact,  and  not  a  very  agreeable  fact  either, 
that  a  man  with  a  mass  of  noble  qualities  may  fail  to  attract 
the  kindliness  and  good  feeling  towards  him  which  a  far  less 
worthy  individual,  merely  by  certain  traits,  or  by  the  sem- 
blance of  them,  of  a  yielding,  passive  nature  is  almost  sure 
to  acquire. 

Conyers  was  generous,  courageous,  and  loyal,  in  the  most 
chivalrous  sense  of  that  word,  to  every  obligation  of  friend- 
ship. He  was  eminently  truthful  and  honorable ;  but  he  had 
two  qualities  whose  baneful  influence  would  disparage  the 
very  best  of  gifts.     He  was  "imperious,"  and,  in  the  phrase 


46  BARKLNGTOX. 

of  bis  brother  oflicers,  "he  never  gave  in."  Some  absurd 
impression  had  been  made  on  him,  as  a  child,  that  obstinacy 
and  persistency  were  the  noblest  of  attributes,  and  that, 
having  said  a  thing,  no  event  or  circumstance  could  ever 
occur  to  induce  a  change  of  opinion. 

Such  a  quality  is  singularly  unfitted  to  youth,  and  mar- 
vellously out  of  place  in  a  regiment;  hence  was  it  that  the 
"Rajah,"  as  he  was  generally  called  by  his  comrades,  had 
few  intimates,  and  not  one  friend  amongst  them. 

If  I  have  dwelt  somewhat  lengthily  on  these  traits,  it  is 
because  their  possessor  is  one  destined  to  be  much  before 
us  in  this  history.  I  will  but  chronicle  one  other  feature. 
I  am  sorry  it  should  be  a  disqualifying  one.  Owing  in 
great  measure,  perhaps  altogether,  to  his  having  been 
brought  up  in  the  East,  where  Hindoo  craft  and  subtlety 
were  familiarized  to  his  mind  from  infancy,  he  was  given 
to  suspect  that  few  things  were  ever  done  from  the  motives 
ascribed  to  them,  and  that  under  the  open  game  of  life  was 
another  concealed  game,  which  was  the  real  one.  As  yet, 
this  dark  and  pernicious  distrust  had  only  gone  the  length 
of  impressing  him  with  a  sense  of  his  own  consummate 
acuteness,  an  amount  of  self-satisfaction,  which  my  reader 
may  have  seen  tingeing  the  few  words  he  exchanged  with 
his  Colonel  before  separating. 

Let  us  see  him  now  as  he  sits  in  a  great  easy-chair,  his 
sprained  ankle  resting  on  another,  in  a  little  honeysuckle- 
covered  arbor  of  the  garden,  a  table  covered  with  books  and 
fresh  flowers  beside  him,  while  Darby  stands  ready  to  serve 
him  from  the  breakfast-table,  where  a  very  tempting  meal 
is  already  spread  out. 

"  So,  then,  I  can't  see  your  master,  it  seems,"  said  Con- 
yers,  half  peevishly. 

"  Faix  you  can't;  he's  ten  miles  off  by  this.  He  got  a 
letter  by  the  post,  and  set  out  half  an  hour  after  for  Kil- 
kenny. He  went  to  your  honor's  door,  but  seeing  you  was 
asleep  he  would  n't  wake  you ;  '  but,  Darby,'  says  he,  '  take 
care  of  that  3"oung  gentleman,  and  mind,'  says  he,  '  that  he 
wants  for  nothing.' " 

"  Very  thoughtful  of  him^  — very  considerate  indeed,"  said 
the  youth ;  but  in  what  precise  spirit  it  is  not  easy  to  say. 


FEED   CONYEllS. 


47 


'*"Who  lives  about  here?  What  gentlemen's  places  are 
there,  I  mean  ?  " 

"There's  Lord  Carrackmore,  and  Sir  Arthur  Godfrey, 
and  Moore  of  Ballyduff,  and  Mrs.  Powerscroft  of  the 
Grove  —  " 

"  Do  any  of  these  great  folks  come  down  here?  " 


Darby  would  like  to  have  given  a  ready  assent,  —  he  would 
have  been  charmed  to  say  that  they  came  daily,  that  they 
made  the  place  a  continual  rendezvous ;  but  as  he  saw  no 
prospect  of  being  able  to  give  his  fiction  even  twenty-four 
hours'  currency,  he  merely  changed  from  one  leg  to  the  other, 
and,  in  a  tone  of  apology,  said,  "  Betimes  they  does,  when 
the  sayson  is  fine." 

"  Who  are  the  persons  who  are  most  frequently  here?" 


48  BARRINGTON. 

"Those  two  that  you  saw  last  night,  —  the  Major  and 
Dr.  Dill.  They  're  up  here  every  second  day,  fishing,  and 
eating  their  dinner  with  the  master." 

"  Is  the  fishing  good?  " 

"The  best  in  Ireland." 

"  And  what  shooting  is  there,  — any  partridges? " 

"  Partridges,  be  gorra !  You  could  n't  see  the  turnips  for 
them." 

' '  And  woodcocks  ?  " 

"Is  it  woodcocks !  The  sky  is  black  with  the  sight  of 
them." 

"Any  lions?" 

"Well,  maybe  an  odd  one  now  and  then,"  said  Darby, 
half  apologizing  for  the  scarcity. 

There  was  an  ineffable  expression  of  self-satisfaction  in 
Conyers's  face  at  the  subtlety  with  which  he  had  drawn 
Darby  into  this  admission ;  and  the  delight  in  his  own 
acuteness  led  him  to  offer  the  poor  fellow  a  cigar,  which  he 
took  with  very  grateful  thanks. 

"  From  Avhat  you  tell  me,  then,  I  shall  find  this  place 
stupid  enough  till  I  am  able  to  be  up  and  about,  eh?  Is 
there  any  one  who  can  play  chess  hereabout?" 

"  Sure  there  's  Miss  Dinah  ;  she 's  a  great  hand  at  it,  they 
tell  me." 

"And  who  is  Miss  Dinah?  Is  she  young, — is  she 
pretty?" 

Darby  gave  a  very  cautious  look  all  around  him,  and  then 
closing  one  eye,  so  as  to  give  his  face  a  look  of  intense  cun- 
ning, he  nodded  very  significantly  twice. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  I  mane  that  she'll  never  see  sixty;  and  for  the  matter 
of  beauty  —  " 

"  Oh,  you  have  said  quite  enough;  I  'm  not  curious  about 
her  looks.  Now  for  another  point.  If  I  should  want  to  get 
away  from  this,  what  other  inn  or  hotel  is  there  in  the 
neighborhood  ?  " 

"There's  Joe  M'Cabe's,  at  Inlstioge ;  but  you  are  better 
where  you  are.  Where  will  you  see  fresh  butter  like  that? 
and  look  at  the  cream,  the  spoon  will  stand  in  it.  Far  and 
near  it's  given  up  to  her  that  nobody  can  make  coffee  like 


FRED   CONYERS.  49 

Miss  Dinah ;  and  when  you  taste  them  trout,  you  '11  tell  me 
if  they  are  not  fit  for  the  king." 

"Everything  is  excellent, — could  not  be  better;  but 
there  's  a  difficulty.  There  's  a  matter  which  to  me  at  least 
makes  a  stay  here  most  unpleasant.  My  friend  tells  me  that 
he  could  not  get  his  bill,  —  that  he  was  accepted  as  a  guest. 
Now  I  can't  permit  this  —  " 

"There  it  is,  now,"  said  Darby,  approaching  the  table, 
and  dropping  his  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper.  "That's 
the  master's  way.  If  he  gets  a  stranger  to  sit  down  with 
him  to  dinner  or  supper,  he  may  eat  and  drink  as  long  as  he 
plases,  and  sorra  sixpence  he  '11  pay ;  and  it 's  that  same 
ruins  us,  nothing  else,  for  it 's  then  he  '11  call  for  the  best 
sherry,  and  that  ould  Maderia  that's  worth  a  guinea  a  bottle. 
"What's  the  use,  after  all,  of  me  inflaming  the  bill  of  the 
next  traveller,  and  putting  down  everj^thing  maybe  double? 
And  worse  than  all,"  continued  he,  in  a  tone  of  horror,  "  let 
him  only  hear  any  one  complain  about  his  bill  or  saying, 
'What's  this?'  or  'I  didn't  get  that,'  out  he'll  come,  as 
mighty  and  as  grand  as  the  Lord-Lif tinint,  and  say,  '  I  'm 
sorry,  sir,  that  we  failed  to  make  this  place  agreeable 
to  you.  AVill  you  do  me  the  favor  not  to  mind  the  bill  at 
all?'  and  with  that  he'd  tear  it  up  in  little  bits  and  walk 
away." 

"To  me  that  would  only  be  additional  offence.  I  'd  not 
endure  it." 

"What  could  you  do?  You'd  maybe  slip  a  five-pound 
note  into  my  hand,  and  say,  '  Darby  my  man,  settle  this 
little  matter  for  me;  you  know  the  ways  of  the  place.'  " 

"I  '11  not  risk  such  an  annoyance,  at  all  events;  that  I  'm 
determined  on." 

Darby  began  now  to  perceive  that  he  had  misconceived 
his  brief,  and  must  alter  his  pleadings  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible; in  fact,  he  saw  he  was  "stopping  an  earth"  he  had 
meant  merely  to  mask.  ".Just  leave  it  all  to  me,  your 
honor,  —  leave  it  all  to  me,  and  I  '11  have  your  bill  for  you 
every  morning  on  the  breakfast-table.  And  why  would  n't 
you?  Why  would  a  gentleman  like  your  honor  be  behouldin' 
to  any  one  for  his  meat  and  drink?"  burst  he  in,  with  an 
eager  rapidity.     "Why  wouldn't  you  say,   'Darby,   bring 

VOL.   I.  —  4 


50  BARKINGTON. 

me  this,  get  me  that,  fetch  me  the  other;  expinse  is  no 
object  in  life  to  me  '  ?  " 

There  was  a  faint  twinkle  of  humor  in  the  eye  of  Conyers, 
and  Darby  stopped  short,  and  with  that  half-lisping  sim- 
plicity which  a  few  Irishmen  understand  to  perfection,  and 
can  exercise  whenever  the  occasion  requires,  he  said:  "But 
sure  isn't  your  honor  laughing  at  me,  isn't  it  just  making 
fun  of  me  you  are?  All  because  I  'm  a  poor  ignorant  crayture 
that  knows  no  better!  " 

"Nothing  of  that  kind,"  said  Conyers,  frankly.  "I  was 
only  smiling  at  thoughts  that  went  through  my  head  at  the 
moment." 

"Well,  faix!  there's  one  coming  up  the  path  now  won't 
make  you  laugh,"  said  Darby,  as  he  whispered,  "It's  Dr. 
Dill." 

The  doctor  was  early  with  his  patient;  if  the  case  was 
not  one  of  urgency,  the  sufferer  was  in  a  more  elevated  rank 
than  usually  fell  to  the  chances  of  Dispensary  practice. 
Then,  it  promised  to  be  one  of  the  nice  chronic  cases,  in 
which  tact  and  personal  agreeability  —  the  two  great  strong- 
holds of  Dr.  Dill  in  his  own  estimation  —  were  of  far  more 
importance  than  the  materia  medica.  Now,  if  Dill's  world 
was  not  a  very  big  one,  he  knew  it  thoroughly.  He  was  a 
chronicle  of  all  the  family  incidents  of  the  county,  and 
could  recount  every  disaster  of  every  house  for  thirty  miles 
round. 

When  the  sprain  had,  therefore,  been  duly  examined,  and 
all  the  pangs  of  the  patient  sufficiently  condoled  with  to 
establish  the  physician  as  a  man  of  feeling.  Dill  proceeded 
to  his  task  as  a  man  of  the  world.  Conyers,  however, 
abruptly  stopped  him,  by  saying,  "  Tell  me  how  I  'm  to  get 
out  of  this  place;  some  other  inn,  I  mean." 

"You  are  not  comfortable  here,  then?"  asked  Dill. 

"In  one  sense,  perfectly  so.  I  like  the  quietness,  the 
delightful  tranquillity,  the  scenery,  — everything,  in  short, 
but  one  circumstance.  I'm  afraid  these  worthy  people  — 
whoever  they  are  —  want  to  regard  me  as  a  guest.  Now  I 
don't  know  them,  —  never  saw  them,  —  don't  care  to  see 
them.  My  Colonel  has  a  liking  for  all  this  sort  of  thing. 
It  has  to  his  mind  a  character  of  adventure  that  amuses 


FRED   CONYERS.  51 

him.     It  would  n't  in  the  least  amuse  me,  and  so  I  want  to 
get  away." 

"Yes,"  repeated  Dill,  blandly,  after  him,  "wants  to  get 
away;  desires  to  change  the  air." 

"Not  at  all,"  broke  in  Conyers,  peevishly;  "no  question 
of  air  whatever.  I  don't  want  to  be  on  a  visit.  1  want 
an  inn.  What  is  this  place  they  tell  me  of  up  the  river, 
—  Inis  —  something  ?  " 

"Inistioge.  M'Cabe's  house;  the  '  Spotted  Duck ; '  very 
small,  very  poor,  far  from  clean,  besides." 

"Is  there  nothing  else?  Can't  you  think  of  some  other 
place?  For  I  can't  have  my  servant  here,  circumstanced  as 
I  am  now." 

The  doctor  paused  to  reply.  The  medical  mind  is  emi- 
nently ready-witted,  and  Dill  at  a  glance  took  in  all  the 
dangers  of  removing  his  patient.  Should  he  transfer  him 
to  his  own  village,  the  visit  which  now  had  to  be  requited 
as  a  journey  of  three  miles  and  upwards,  would  then  be  an 
affair  of  next  door.  Should  be  send  him  to  Thomastown, 
it  would  be  worse  again,  for  then  he  would  be  within  the 
precincts  of  a  greater  than  Dill  himself,  —  a  practitioner 
who  had  a  one-horse  phaeton,  and  whose  name  was  written 
on  brass.  "Would  you  dislike  a  comfortable  lodging  in  a 
private  family, —  one  of  the  first  respectability,  I  may  make 
bold  to  call  it?  " 

"Abhor  it!  —  couldn't  endure  it!  I'm  not  essentially 
troublesome  or  exacting,  but  I  like  to  be  able  to  be  either, 
whenever  the  humor  takes  me." 

"I  was  thinking  of  a  house  where  you  might  freely  take 
these  liberties  —  " 

"Liberties!  I  call  them  rights,  doctor,  not  liberties! 
Can't  you  imagine  a  man,  not  very  wilful,  not  very  capri- 
cious, but  who,  if  the  whim  took  him,  would  n't  stand  being 
thwarted  by  any  habits  of  a  so-called  respectable  family? 
There,  don't  throw  up  your  eyes,  and  misunderstand  me. 
All  I  mean  is,  that  my  hours  of  eating  and  sleeping  have 
no  rule.  I  smoke  everywhere ;  I  make  as  much  noise  as  I 
please ;  and  I  never  brook  any  impertinent  curiosity  about 
what  I  do,  or  what  I  leave  undone." 

"Under  all  the  circumstances,  you  had,  perhaps,  better 
remain  where  you  are,"  said  Dill,  thoughtfully. 


62  BARUINGTON. 

"  Of  course,  if  these  people  will  permit  me  to  pay  for  my 
board  and  lodging.  If  they  '11  condescend  to  let  me  be  a 
stranger,  I  ask  for  nothing  better  than  this  place." 

"Might  I  offer  myself  as  a  negotiator?"  said  Dill,  insin- 
uatingly; "for  I  opine  that  the  case  is  not  of  the  ditliculty 
you  suppose.     Will  you  contide  it  to  my  hands?" 

"  With  all  my  heart.  I  don't  exactly  see  why  there  should 
be  a  negotiation  at  all ;  but  if  there  must,  pray  be  the  spe- 
cial envoy." 

When  Dill  arose  and  set  out  on  his  mission,  the  young 
fellow  looked  after  him  with  an  expression  that  seemed  to 
say,  "  How  you  all  imagine  you  are  humbugging  me,  while 
I  read  every  one  of  you  like  a  book! " 

Let  us  follow  the  doctor,  and  see  how  he  acquitted  him- 
self in  his  diplomacy. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DILL    AS    A    DIPLOMATIST. 

Dr.  Dill  had  knocked  twice  at  the  door  of  Miss  Barring- 
ton's  little  sitting-room,  and  no  answer  was  returned  to  his 
summons. 

"Is  the  dear  lady  at  home?"  asked  he,  blandly.  But, 
though  he  waited  for  some  seconds,  no  reply  came. 

"Might  Dr.  Dill  be  permitted  to  make  his  compli- 
ments?" 

"Yes,  come  in,"  said  a  sharp  voice,  very  much  with  the 
expression  of  one  wearied  out  by  importunity.  Miss  Bar- 
rington  gave  a  brief  nod  in  return  for  the  profound  obeisance 
of  her  visitor,  and  then  turned  again  to  a  large  map  which 
covered  the  table  before  her. 

"I  took  the  opportunity  of  my  professional  call  here  this 
morning  —  " 

"How  is  that  young  man,  — is  anything  broken?" 

"I  incline  to  say  there  is  no  fracture.  The  flexors,  and 
perhaps,  indeed,  the  annular  ligament,  are  the  seat  of  all 
the  mischief." 

"A  common  sprain,  in  fact;  a  thing  to  rest  for  one  day, 
and  hold  under  the  pump  the  day  after." 

"The  dear  lady  is  always  prompt,  always  energetic;  but 
these  sort  of  cases  are  often  complicated,  and  require  nice 
management." 

"And  frequent  visits,"  said  she,  with  a  dry  gravity. 

"All  the  world  must  live,  dear  lady,  —  all  the  world  must 
live." 

"Your  profession  does  not  always  sustain  your  theory, 
sir;  at  least,  popular  scandal  says  you  kill  as  many  as  you 
cure." 

"I  know  the  dear  lady  has  little  faith  in  physic." 


54  BAR  KINGTON. 

"Say  none,  sir,  and  you  will  be  nearer  the  murk;  but, 
remember,  I  seek  no  converts;  I  ask  nobody  to  deny  him- 
self the  luxuries  of  senna  and  gamboge  because  I  prefer 
beef  and  mutton.  You  wanted  to  see  my  brother,  1  pre- 
sume," added  she,  sharply,  "but  he  started  early  this  morn- 
ing for  Kilkenny.  The  Solicitor-General  wanted  to  say  a 
few  words  to  him  on  his  way  dowm  to  Cork." 

"That  weary  law!  that  weary  law !  "  ejaculated  Dill,  fer- 
vently; for  he  well  knew  with  what  little  favor  Miss  Bar- 
rington  regarded  litigation. 

"And  why  so,  sir?"  retorted  she,  sharply.  "What 
greater  absurdity  is  there  in  being  hypochondriac  about 
your  property  than  your  person?  My  brother's  taste  in- 
clines to  depletion  by  law;  others  prefer  the  lancet." 

"Always  witty,  always  smart,  the  dear  lady,"  said  Dill, 
with  a  sad  attempt  at  a  smile.  The  flattery  passed  without 
acknowledgment  of  any  kind,  and  he  resumed :  "  I  dropped 
in  this  morning  to  you,  dear  lady,  on  a  matter  which,  per- 
haps, might  not  be  altogether  pleasing  to  you." 

"Then  don't  do  it,  sir." 

"If  the  dear  lady  would  let  me  finish  —  " 

"I  was  warning  you,  sir,  not  even  to  begin." 

"Yes,  madam,"  said  he,  stung  into  something  like  resist- 
ance; "but  I  would  have  added,  had  I  been  permitted,  with- 
out any  due  reason  for  displeasure  on  your  part." 

"And  are  ijou  the  fitting  judge  of  that,  sir?  If  you  know, 
as  you  say  you  know,  that  you  are  about  to  give  me  pain, 
by  what  presumption  do  you  assert  that  it  must  be  for 
my  benefit?     What 's  it  all  about?  " 

"  I  come  on  the  part  of  this  young  gentleman,  dear  lady, 
who,  having  learned  —  I  cannot  say  where  or  how  —  that  he 
is  not  to  consider  himself  here  at  an  inn,  but,  as  a  guest, 
feels,  with  all  the  gratitude  that  the  occasion  warrants, 
that  he  has  no  claim  to  the  attention,  and  that  it  is  one 
which  would  render  his  position  here  too  painful  to  per- 
sist in." 

"How  did  he  come  by  this  impression,  sir?  Be  frank 
and  tell  me." 

"I  am  really  unable  to  say,  Miss  Dinah." 

"Come,  sir,  be  honest,  and  own  that  the  delusion  arose 


DILL  AS  A   DIPLOMATIST.  55 

from  yourself,  —  yes,  from  yourself.  It  was  in  perceiving 
the  courteous  delicacy  with  which  you  declined  a  fee  that 
he  conceived  this  flattering  notion  of  us;  but  go  back  to 
him,  doctor,  and  say  it  is  a  piu-e  mistake ;  that  his  break- 
fast will  cost  him  one  shilling,  and  his  dinner  two;  the 
price  of  a  boat  to  fetch  him  up  to  Thomastown  is  half  a 
crown,  and  that  the  earlier  he  orders  one  the  better.  Listen 
to  me,  sir,"  said  she,  and  her  lips  trembled  with  passion, 
—  "  listen  to  me,  while  I  speak  of  this  for  the  first  and  last 
time.  Whenever  my  brother,  recurring  to  what  he  once 
was,  has  been  emboldened  to  treat  a  passing  stranger  as 
his  guest,  the  choice  has  been  so  judiciously  exercised  as  to 
fall  upon  one  who  could  respect  the  motive  and  not  resent  the 
liberty;  but  never  till  this  moment  has  it  befallen  us  to  be 
told  that  the  possibility  —  the  bare  possibility  —  of  such  a 
presumption  should  be  met  by  a  declaration  of  refusal.  Go 
back,  then,  to  j-our  patient,  sir;  assure  him  that  he  is  at  an 
inn,  and  that  he  has  the  right  to  be  all  that  his  purse  and 
his  want  of  manners  can  insure  him." 

"Dear  lady,  I'm,  maybe,  a  bad  negotiator." 

"I  trust  sincerely,  sir,  you  are  a  better  doctor." 

"Nothing  on  earth  was  further  from  my  mind  than 
offence  —  " 

"Very  possibly,  sir;  but,  as  you  are  aware,  blisters  will 
occasionally  act  with  all  the  violence  of  caustics,  so  an 
irritating  theme  may  be  pressed  at  a  very  inauspicious 
moment.  My  cares  as  a  hostess  are  not  in  very  good  favor 
with  me  just  now.  Counsel  your  young  charge  to  a  change 
of  air,  and  I'll  think  no  more  of  the  matter." 

Had  it  been  a  qtieen  who  had  spoken,  the  doctor  could  not 
more  palpably  have  felt  that  his  audience  had  terminated, 
and  his  only  duty  was  to  withdraw. 

And  so  he  did  retire,  with  much  bowing  and  graciously 
smiling,  and  indicating,  by  all  imaginable  contortions, 
gratitude  for  the  past  and  humility  forever. 

I  rejoice  that  I  am  not  obliged  to  record  as  history  the  low 
but  fervent  mutterings  that  fell  from  his  lips  as  he  closed 
the  door  after  him,  and  by  a  gesture  of  menace  showed  his 
feelings  towards  her  he  had  just  quitted.  "Insolent  old 
woman!"  he  burst  out  as  he  went   along,  "how  can  she 


56  BAKRINGTON. 

presume  to  forget  a  statiou  that  every  incident  of  her  daily 
life  recalls?  In  the  rank  she  once  held,  and  can  never 
return  to,  such  manners  would  be  an  outrage;  but  I  '11  not 
endure  it  again.  It  is  your  last  triumph.  Miss  Dinah;  make 
much  of  it."  Thus  sustained  by  a  very  Dutch  courage,  — 
for  this  national  gift  can  come  of  passion  as  well  as  drink, 
—  he  made  his  way  to  his  patient's  presence,  smoothing  his 
brow,  as  he  went,  and  recalling  the  medico-chirurgical 
serenity  of  his  features. 

"I  have  not  done  much,  but  I  have  accomplished  some- 
thing," said  he,  blandly.  "I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand 
what  they  mean  by  introducing  all  these  caprices  into  their 
means  of  life;  but,  assuredly,  it  will  uot  attract  strangers 
to  the  house." 

"What  are  the  caprices  you  allude  to?" 

"Well,  it  is  not  very  easy  to  say;  perhaps  I  have  not 
expressed  my  meaning  quite  correctly;  but  one  thing  is 
clear,  a  stranger  likes  to  feel  that  his  only  obligation  in  an 
inn  is  to  discharge  the  bill." 

"I  say,  doctor,"  broke  in  Conyers,  "I  have  been  think- 
ing the  matter  over.  Why  should  I  not  go  back  to  my 
quarters?  There  might  surely  be  some  means  contrived 
to  convey  me  to  the  high-road ;  after  that,  there  will  be  no 
difficulty  whatever." 

The  doctor  actually  shuddered  at  the  thought.  The 
sportsman  who  sees  the  bird  he  has  just  winged  flutter  away 
to  his  neighbor's  preserve  may  understand  something,  at 
least,  of  Dr.  Dill's  discomfiture  as  he  saw  his  wealthy 
patient  threatening  a  departure.  He  quickly,  therefore, 
summoned  to  his  aid  all  those  terrors  which  had  so  often 
done  good  service  on  like  occasions.  He  gave  a  little 
graphic  sketch  of  every  evil  consequence  that  might  come 
of  an  imprudent  journey.  The  catalogue  was  a  bulky  one ; 
it  ranged  over  tetanus,  mortification,  and  disease  of  the 
bones.  It  included  every  sort  and  description  of  pain  as 
classified  by  science,  into  "dull,  weary,  and  incessant,"  or 
"sharp  lancinating  agony."  Now  Conyers  was  as  brave 
as  a  lion,  but  had,  withal,  one  of  those  temperaments  which 
are  miserably  sensitive  under  suffering,  and  to  which  the 
mere  description  of  pain  is  itself  an  acute  pang.     When, 


DILL  AS   A   DIPLOMATIST.  57 

therefore,  the  doctor  drew  the  picture  of  a  case  very  like 
the  present  one,  where  amputation  came  too  late,  Conyers 
burst  in  with,  "For  mercy's  sake,  will  you  stop!  I  can't 
sit  here  to  be  cut  up  piece-meal;  there  's  not  a  nerve  in  m}- 
body  you  haven't  set  ajar."  The  doctor  blandly  took  out 
his  massive  watch,  and  laid  his  fingers  on  the  young  man's 
pulse.  "Ninety-eight,  and  slightly  intermittent,"  said  he, 
as  though  to  himself. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  asked  Conyers,  eagerly. 

"The  irregular  action  of  the  heart  implies  abnormal  con- 
dition of  the  nervous  system,  and  indicates,  imperatively, 
rest,  repose,  and  tranquillity." 

"If  lethargy  itself  be  required,  this  is  a  capital  place 
for  it,"  sighed  Conj^ers,  drearily. 

"You  have  n't  turned  j'our  thoughts  to  what  I  said  awhile 
ago,  being  domesticated,  as  one  might  call  it.  in  a  nice 
quiet  family,  with  all  the  tender  attentions  of  a  home,  and 
a  little  music  in  the  evening." 

Simple  as  these  words  were,  Dill  gave  to  each  of  them 
an  almost  honeyed  utterance. 

"No;  it  would  bore  me  excessively.  I  detest  to  be 
looked  after;  I  abhor  what  are  called  attentions." 

"Unobtrusively  offered, — tendered  with  a  due  delicacy 
and  reserve?" 

"Which  means  a  sort  of  simpering  civility  that  one  has 
to  smirk  for  in  return.  No,  no;  I  was  bred  up  in  quite  a 
different  school,  where  we  clapped  our  hands  twice  when 
we  wanted  a  servant,  and  the  fellow's  head  paid  for  it  if  he 
was  slow  in  coming.  Don't  tell  me  any  more  about  your 
pleasant  family,  for  they  'd  neither  endure  me,  nor  I  them. 
Get  me  well  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  out  of  this  confounded 
place,  and  I  '11  give  you  leave  to  make  a  vascular  prepara- 
tion of  me  if  you  catch  me  here  again !  " 

The  doctor  smiled,  as  doctors  know  how  to  smile  when 
patients  think  they  have  said  a  smartness,  and  now  each 
was  somewhat  on  better  terms  with  the  other. 

"By  the  way,  doctor,"  said  Conyers,  suddenly,  "you 
have  n't  told  me  what  the  old  woman  said.  What  aiTange- 
ment  did  you  come  to?  " 

"Your  breakfast  will  cost  one  shilling,  your  dinner  two. 


58  BARRINGTON. 

She  made  no  mention  of  your  rooms,  but  only  hinted  that, 
whenever  you  took  youi"  departure,  the  charge  for  the  boat 
was  half  a  crown." 

"Come,  all  this  is  very  business-like,  and  to  the  purpose; 
but  where,  in  Heaven's  name,  did  any  man  live  in  this 
fashion  for  so  little?  We  have  a  breakfast-mess,  but  it 's 
jiot  to  be  compared  with  this, — such  a  variety  of  bread, 
such  grilled  trout,  such  a  profusion  of  fruit.  After  all, 
doctor,  it  is  very  like  being  a  guest,  the  nominal  charge 
being  to  escape  the  sense  of  a  favor.  But  perhaps  one 
can  do  here  as  at  one  of  those  '  hospices  '  in  the  Alps,  and 
make  a  present  at  parting  to  requite  the  hospitality." 

"It  is  a  graceful  way  to  record  gratitude,"  said  the 
doctor,  who  liked  to  think  that  the  practice  could  be  ex- 
tended to  other  reminiscences. 

"I  must  have  my  servant  and  my  books,  my  pipes  and  my 
Spitz  terrier.  I  '11  get  a  target  up,  besides,  on  that  cherry- 
tree,  and  practise  pistol-shooting  as  I  sit  here.  Could  you 
find  out  some  idle  fellow  who  would  play  chess  or  ecarte  with 
me,  — a  curate  or  a  priest,  — I  'm  not  particular;  and  when 
my  man  Holt  comes,  I  '11  make  him  string  my  grass-mat 
hammock  between  those  two  elms,  so  that  I  can  fish  without 
the  bore  of  standing  up  for  it.  Holt  is  a  rare  clever  fellow, 
and  you  '11  see  how  he'll  get  things  in  order  here  before  he  's 
a  day  in  the  place." 

The  doctor  smiled  again,  for  he  saw  that  his  patient  de- 
sired to  be  deemed  a  marvel  of  resources  and  a  mine  of 
original  thought.  The  doctor's  smile  was  apportioned  to 
his  conversation,  just  as  he  added  syrups  in  his  prescrip- 
tions. It  was,  as  he  himself  called  it,  the  "vehicle," 
without  special  efficac}^  in  itself,  but  it  aided  to  get  down 
the  "active  principle."  But  he  did  more  than  smile.  He 
promised  all  possible  assistance  to  carry  out  his  patient's 
plans.  He  was  almost  certain  that  a  friend  of  his,  an  old 
soldier,  too, — a  Major  M'Cormick, — could  play  ecarte, 
though,  perhaps,  it  might  be  cribbage;  and  then  Father 
Cody,  he  could  answer  for  it,  was  wonderful  at  skittles, 
though,  for  the  present,  that  game  might  not  be  practicable; 
and  as  for  books,  the  library  at  Woodstay  was  full  of  them, 
if  the  key  could  only  be  come  at,  for  the  family  was  abroad ; 


DILL  AS   A   DIPLOMATIST.  59 

and,  in  fact,  be  displayed  a  most  generous  willingness  to 
oblige,  although,  when  brought  to  the  rude  test  of  reality, 
his  pictures  were  only  dissolving  views  of  pleasures  to 
come. 

When  he  took  his  leave  at  last,  he  left  Conyers  in  far 
better  spirits  than  he  found  him.  The  young  fellow  had 
begun  to  castle-build  about  how  he  should  pass  his  time, 
and  in  such  architecture  there  is  no  room  for  ennui.  And 
what  a  rare  organ  must  constructiveness  be,  when  even  in  its 
mockery  it  can  yield  such  pleasure !  We  are  very  prone  to 
envy  the  rich  man,  whose  wealth  sets  no  limit  to  his 
caprices;  but  is  not  a  rich  fancy,  that  wondrous  imagina- 
tive power  which  unweariedly  invents  new  incidents,  new 
personages,  new  situations,  a  very  covetable  possession? 
And  can  we  not,  in  the  gratification  of  the  very  humblest 
exercise  of  this  quality,  rudely  approximate  to  the  ecstasy 
of  him  who  wields  it  in  all  its  force?  Not  that  Fred  Con- 
yers was  one  of  these ;  he  was  a  mere  tyro  in  the  faculty, 
and  could  only  carry  himself  into  a  region  where  he  saw  his 
Spitz  terrier  jump  between  the  back  rails  of  a  chair,  and 
himself  sending  bullet  after  bullet  through  the  very  centre 
of  the  bull's  eye. 

Be  it  so.  Perhaps  you  and  I,  too,  my  reader,  have  our 
Spitz  terrier  and  bull's-eye  days,  and,  if  so,  let  us  be 
grateful  for  them. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    doctor's    daughter. 

"Whether  it  was  that  Dr.  Dill  expeuded  all  the  benevolence 
of  his  disposition  in  the  course  of  his  practice,  and  came 
home  utterly  exhausted,  but  so  it  was,  that  his  familj^  never 
saw  him  in  those  moods  of  blanduess  which  he  invariably 
appeared  in  to  his  patients.  In  fact,  however  loaded  he 
went  forth  with  these  wares  of  a  morning,  he  disposed  of 
every  item  of  his  stock  before  he  got  back  at  night;  and 
when  poor  Mrs.  Dill  heard,  as  she  from  time  to  time  did 
heai',  of  the  doctor's  gentleness,  his  kindness  in  suffering, 
his  beautiful  and  touching  sj'mpathj^  with  sorrow,  she  lis- 
tened with  the  same  sort  of  semi-stupid  astonishment  she 
would  have  felt  on  hearing  some  one  eulogizing  the  climate 
of  Ireland,  and  going  rapturous  about  the  blue  sky  and  the 
glorious  sunshine.  Unhappj^  little  woman,  she  only  saw 
him  in  his  dark  daj'S  of  cloud  and  rain,  and  she  never  came 
into  his  presence  except  in  a  sort  of  moral  mackintosh  made 
for  the  worst  weather. 

The  doctor's  family  consisted  of  seven  children,  but  our 
concern  is  only  with  the  two  eldest,  —  a  son  and  a  daughter. 
Tom  was  two  3'ears  younger  than  his  sister,  who,  at  this 
period  of  our  storj^,  was  verging  on  nineteen.  He  was  an 
awkward,  ungainly  youth,  large-jointed,  but  weakly,  with 
a  sandy  red  head  and  much-freckled  face,  just  such  a  dis- 
paraging counterpart  of  his  sister  as  a  coarse  American 
piracy  often  presents  of  one  of  our  well-printed,  richly 
papered  English  editions.  "It  was  all  there,"  but  all 
unseemly,  ungraceful,  undignified;  for  Polly  Dill  was 
pretty.  Her  hair  was  auburn,  her  eyes  a  deep  hazel,  and 
her  skin  a  marvel  of  transparent  whiteness.  You  would 
never  have  hesitated  to  call  her  a  very  pretty  girl  if  you  had 


THE   DOCTOR'S   DAUGHTER.  61 

not  seen  her  brother,  but,  having  seen  him,  all  the  traits 
of  her  good  looks  suffered  in  the  same  way  that  Grisi's 
"Norma  "does  from  the  horrid  recollection  of  Paul  Bed- 
ford's. 

After  all,  the  resemblance  went  very  little  further  than 
this  "travestie,"  for  while  he  was  a  slow,  heavy- witted, 
loutish  creature,  with  low  tastes  and  low  ambitions,  she  was 
a  clever,  intelligent  girl,  very  eagerly  intent  on  making 
something  of  her  advantages.  Though  the  doctor  was  a 
general  practitioner,  and  had  a  shop,  which  he  called  "Sur- 
gery," in  the  village,  he  was  received  at  the  great  houses  in 
a  sort  of  half-intimate,  half-patronizing  fashion;  as  one, 
in  short,  with  whom  it  was  not  necessary  to  be  formal, 
but  it  might  become  very  inconvenient  to  have  a  coldness. 
These  were  very  sorry  credentials  for  acceptance,  but  he 
made  no  objection  to  them. 

A  few,  however,  of  the  "neighbors  "  —  it  would  be  ungen- 
erous to  inquire  the  motive,  for  in  this  world  of  ours  it  is 
just  as  well  to  regard  one's  five-pound  note  as  convertible 
into  five  gold  sovereigns,  and  not  speculate  as  to  the  kind 
of  rags  it  is  made  of  —  were  pleased  to  notice  Miss  Dill,  and 
occasionally  invite  her  to  their  larger  gatherings,  so  that 
she  not  only  gained  opportunities  of  cultivating  her  social 
gifts,  but,  what  is  often  a  greater  spur  to  ambition,  of  com- 
paring them  with  those  of  others. 

Now  this  same  measuring  process,  if  only  conducted  with- 
out any  envy  or  ungenerous  rivalry,  is  not  without  its  advan- 
tage. Polly  Dill  made  it  really  profitable.  I  will  not  pre- 
sume to  say  that,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  she  did  not  envy 
the  social  accidents  that  gave  others  precedence  before  her, 
but  into  her  heart  of  hearts  neither  you  nor  I  have  any 
claim  to  enter.  Enough  that  we  know  nothing  in  her  out- 
ward conduct  or  bearing  revealed  such  a  sentiment.  As 
little  did  she  maintain  her  position  by  flattery,  which  many 
in  her  ambiguous  station  would  have  relied  upon  as  a 
stronghold.  No;  Polly  followed  a  very  simple  policy, 
which  was  all  the  more  successful  that  it  never  seemed  to  be 
a  policy  at  all.  She  never  in  any  way  attracted  towards 
her  the  attentions  of  those  men  who,  in  the  marriageable 
market,  were  looked  on  as  the  choice  lots;  squires  in  pos- 


62  BARRINGTON. 

session,  elder  sous,  and  favorite  nephews,  she  regarded  as 
so  much  forbidden  fruit.  It  was  a  lottery  in  which  she 
never  took  a  ticket.  It  is  incredible  how  much  kindly 
notice  and  favorable  recognition  accrued  to  her  from  this 
line. 

We  all  know  how  pleasant  it  is  to  be  next  to  the  man  at  a 
promiscuous  dinner  who  never  eats  turtle  nor  cares  for 
"'Cliquot;"  and  in  the  world  at  large  there  are  people  who 
represent  the  calabash  and  the  champagne. 

Then  Polly  played  well,  but  was  quite  as  ready  to  play  as 
to  dance.  She  sang  prettily,  too,  and  had  not  the  slightest 
objection  that  one  of  her  simple  ballads  should  be  the  foil  to 
a  grand  performance  of  some  young  lady,  whose  artistic 
agonies  rivalled  Alboni's.  So  cleverly  did  Polly  do  all 
this,  that  even  her  father  could  not  discover  the  secret  of 
her  success;  and  though  he  saw  "his  little  girl"  as  he 
called  her,  more  and  more  sought  after  and  invited,  he 
continued  to  be  persuaded  that  all  this  favoritism  was  only 
the  reflex  of  his  own  popularity.  How,  then,  could  mere 
acquaintances  ever  suspect  what  to  the  eye  of  those  nearer 
and  closer  was  so  inscrutable? 

Polly  Dill  rode  very  well  and  very  fearlessly,  and  occa- 
sionally was  assisted  to  "a  mount"  by  some  country  gentle- 
man, who  combined  gallantry  with  profit,  and  knew  that  the 
horse  he  lent  could  never  be  seen  to  greater  advantage. 
Yet,  even  in  this,  she  avoided  display,  quite  satisfied,  as  it 
seemed,  to  enjoy  herself  thoroughly,  and  not  attract  any 
notice  that  could  be  avoided.  Indeed,  she  never  tried  for 
"a  place,"  but  rather  attached  herself  to  some  of  the  older 
and  heavier  weights,  who  grew  to  believe  that  they  were 
especially  in  charge  of  her,  and  nothing  was  more  common, 
at  the  end  of  a  hard  run,  than  to  hear  such  self-gratulations 
as,  "I  think  I  took  great  care  of  you.  Miss  Dill?"  "Eh, 
Miss  Polly!  you  see  I'm  not  such  a  bad  leader!"  and 
so  on. 

Such  was  the  doctor's  "little  girl,"  whom  I  am  about  to 
present  to  my  readers  under  another  aspect.  She  is  at 
home,  dressed  in  a  neatly  fitting  but  very  simple  cotton 
dress,  her  hair  in  two  plain  bands,  and  she  is  seated  at  a 
table,  at  the  opposite  of  which  lounges  her  brother  Tom. 


THE   DOCTOR'S   DAUGHTER.  G3 

with  an  air  of  dogged  and  sleepy  indolence,  wliicii  extends 
from  his  ill-trimmed  hair  to  his  ill-buttoned  waistcoat. 

"Never  mind  it  to-day,  Polly,"  said  he,  with  a  yawn. 
"I  've  been  up  all  night,  and  have  no  head  for  work. 
There  's  a  good  girl,  let 's  have  a  chat  instead." 

"Impossible,  Tom,"  said  she,  calmly,  but  with  decision. 
"To-day  is  the  thii'd.  You  have  only  three  weeks  now 
and  two  days  before  your  examination.  "We  have  all  the 
bones  and  ligaments  to  go  over  again,  and  the  whole  vascu- 
lar system.     You  've  forgotten  everj'  word  of  Harrison." 

"It  doesn't  signify,  Polly.  They  never  take  a  fellow  on 
anything  but  two  arteries  for  the  navy.     Grove  told  me  so." 

"Grove  is  an  ass,  and  got  plucked  twice.  It  is  a  perfect 
disgrace  to  quote  him." 

"Well,  I  only  wish  I  may  do  as  well.  He's  assistant- 
surgeon  to  the  '  Taurus '  gun-brig  on  the  African  station ; 
and  if  I  was  there,  it 's  little  I  'd  care  for  the  whole  lot  of 
bones  and  balderdash." 

"Come,  don't  be  silly.  Let  us  go  on  with  the  scapula. 
Describe  the  glenoid  cavity." 

"If  you  were  the  girl  you  might  be,  I'd  not  be  bored 
with  all  this  stupid  trash,  Polly." 

"What  do  you  mean?    I  don't  understand  you." 

"It's  easy  enough  to  understand  me.  You  are  as  thick 
as  thieves,  you  and  that  old  Admiral,  —  that  Sir  Charles 
Cobham.  I  saw  you  talking  to  the  old  fellow  at  the  meet 
the  other  morning.  You  've  only  to  say,  '  There  's  Tom  — 
my  brother  Tom  —  wants  a  navy  appointment;  he's  not 
passed  yet,  but  if  the  fellows  at  the  Board  got  a  hint,  just 
as  much  as,  "Don't  be  hard  on  him  —  "  '  " 

"I'd  not  do  it  to  make  you  a  post-captain,  sir,"  said 
she,  severely.  "You  very  much  overrate  my  influence, 
and  very  much  underrate  my  integrity,  when  you  ask  it." 

"Hoity-toity!  ain't  we  dignified!  So  you'd  rather  see 
me  plucked,  eh?  " 

"Yes,  if  that  should  be  the  only  alternative." 

"Thank  you,  Polly,  that's  all!  thank  you,"  said  he;  and 
he  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes. 

"My  dear  Tom,"  said  she,  laying  her  white  soft  hand 
on  his  coarse  brown  fingers,  "Can  you  not  see  that  if  I  even 


64  BARRINGTON. 

stooped  to  anything  so  unworthy,  that  it  would  compromise 
your  whole  prospects  in  life?  You'd  obtain  an  assistant- 
surgeoncy,  and  never  rise  above  it." 

"And  do  I  ask  to  rise  above  it?  Do  I  ask  anything 
beyond  getting  out  of  this  house,  and  earning  bread  that  is 
not  grudged  me?" 

"Nay,  nay;  if  you  talk  that  way,  I  've  done." 

''  Well,  I  do  talk  that  way.  He  sent  me  off  to  Kilkenny 
last  week  —  you  saw  it  yourself  —  to  bi'ing  out  that  trash  for 
the  shop,  and  he  would  n't  pay  the  car  hire,  and  made  me 
carry  two  stone  of  carbonate  of  magnesia  and  a  jar  of 
leeches  fourteen  miles.  You  were  just  taking  that  post  and 
rail  out  of  Nixon's  lawn  as  I  came  by.  You  saw  me  well 
enough." 

"I  am  glad  to  say  I  did  not,"  said  she,  sighing. 

"I  aSiW  you,  then,  and  how  that  gray  carried  you!  You 
were  waving  a  handkerchief  in  your  hand;  what  was  that 
for?" 

"It  was  to  show  Ambrose  Bushe  that  the  ground  was 
good ;  he  was  afraid  of  being  staked !  " 

"That 's  exactly  what  I  am.  I  'm  afraid  of  being  '  staked 
up '  at  the  Hall,  and  if  you  'd  take  as  much  trouble  about 
your  brother  as  you  did  for  Ambrose  Bushe  —  " 

"Tom,  Tom,  I  have  taken  it  for  eight  weary  months.  I 
believe  I  know  Bell  on  the  bones,  and  Harrison  on  the 
arteries,   by  heart !  " 

"Who  thanks  you?"  said  he,  doggedly.  "When  you 
read  a  thing  twice,  you  never  forget  it;  but  it's  not  so 
with  me." 

"Try  what  a  little  work  will  do,  Tom;  be  assured  there 
is  not  half  as  much  disparity  between  people's  brains  as 
there  is  between  their  industry." 

"I  'd  rather  have  luck  than  either,  I  know  that.  It's  the 
only  thing,  after  all." 

She  gave  a  very  deep  sigh,  and  leaned  her  head  on  her 
hand. 

"Work  and  toil  as  hard  as  you  may,"  continued  he,  with 
all  the  fervor  of  one  on  a  favorite  theme,  "if  you  haven't 
luck  you  '11  be  beaten.     Can  you  deny  that,  Polly?  " 

"If  j'ou  allow  me  to  call  merit  what  you  call  luck,  I'll 


^    V 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DAUGHTER.  65 

agree  with  you.  But  I  'd  much  rather  go  on  with  our  work. 
What  is  the  insertion  of  the  deltoid?  I'm  sure  you  know 
that!" 

"The  deltoid!  the  deltoid!"  muttered  he.  "I  forget  all 
about  the  deltoid,  but,  of  course,  it's  like  the  rest  of  them. 
It 's  inserted  into  a  ridge  or  a  process,  or  whatever  you 
call  it  —  " 

"Oh,  Tom,  this  is  very  hopeless.  How  can  you  presume 
to  face  3'our  examiners  with  such  ignorance  as  this?  " 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Polly;  Grove  told  me  he  did 
it,  —  if  I  find  my  pluck  failing  me,  I  '11  have  a  go  of  brandy 
before  I  go  in." 

She  found  it  very  hard  not  to  laugh  at  the  solemn  gravity 
of  this  speech,  and  just  as  hard  not  to  cry  as  she  looked  at 
him  who  spoke  it.  At  the  same  moment  Dr.  Dill  opened 
the  door,  calling  out  sharply,  "Where's  that  fellow,  Tom? 
Who  has  seen  him  this  morning  ?  " 

"He's  here,  papa,"  said  Polly.  "We  are  brushing  up 
the  anatomy  for  the  last  time." 

"His  head  must  be  in  capital  order  for  it,  after  his 
night's  exploit.  I  heard  of  j^ou,  sir,  and  your  reputable 
wager.  Noonan  was  up  here  this  morning  with  the  whole 
story ! " 

"I  'd  have  won  if  they  'd  not  put  snuff  in  the  punch  —  " 

"You  are  a  shameless  hound  —  " 

"Oh,  papa!  If  you  knew  how  he  was  working, — how 
eager  he  is  to  pass  his  examination,  and  be  a  credit  to  us 
all,  and  owe  his  independence  to  himself  —  " 

"I  know  more  of  him  than  you  do,  miss,  —  far  more,  too, 
than  he  is  aware  of,  —  and  I  know  something  of  myself 
also;  and  I  tell  him  now,  that  if  he 's  rejected  at  the  exam- 
ination, he  need  not  come  back  here  with  the  news." 

"And  where  am  I  to  go,  then?"  asked  the  young  fellow, 
half  insolently. 

"You  may  go  —  "  Where  to,  the  doctor  was  not  suffered 
to  indicate,  for  already  Polly  had  thrown  herself  into  his 
arms  and  arrested  the  speech. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  can  'list;  a  fellow  need  not  know 
much  about  gallipots  for  that."  As  he  said  this,  he 
snatched  up  his  tattered  old  cap  and  made  for  the  door. 

VOL.   I.  —  5 


66  BARRINGTON. 

"Stay,  sir!  I  have  business  for  you  to  do,"  cried  Dill, 
sternly.  "There  's  a  young  gentleman  at  the  '  Fisherman's 
Home  '  laid  up  with  a  bad  sprain.  I  have  prescribed  twenty 
leeches  on  the  part.     Go  down  and  apply  them." 

"That 's  what  old  Molly  Day  used  to  do,"  said  Tom, 
angrily. 

"Yes,  sir,  and  knew  more  of  the  occasion  that  required  it 
than  you  will  ever  do.  See  that  you  apply  them  all  to  the 
outer  ankle,  and  attend  well  to  the  bleeding;  the  patient  is 
a  young  man  of  rank,  with  whom  you  had  better  take  no 
liberties." 

"If  I  go  at  all  —  " 

"Tom,  Tom,  none  of  this!"  said  Polly,  who  drew  very 
close  to  him,  and  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  full  of 
tears. 

"Am  I  going  as  your  son  this  time?  or  did  you  tell  him 
—  as  you  told  Mr.  Nixon  —  that  you  'd  send  your  young 
man  ?  " 

"There!  listen  to  that!"  cried  the  doctor,  turning  to 
Polly.     "I  hope  you  are  proud  of  your  pupil." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  whispering  some  hurried  words 
in  her  brother's  ear,  and  pressing  at  the  same  time  some- 
thing into  his  hand,  she  shuffled  him  out  of  the  room  and 
closed  the  door. 

The  doctor  now  paced  the  room,  so  engrossed  by  passion 
that  he  forgot  he  was  not  alone,  and  uttered  threats  and 
mumbled  out  dark  predictions  with  a  fearful  energy.  Mean- 
while Polly  put  by  the  books  and  drawings,  and  removed 
everything  which  might  recall  the  late  misadventure. 

"What's  your  letter  about,  papa?"  said  she,  pointing  to 
a  square-shaped  envelope  which  he  still  held  in  his  hand. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  he,  quietly,  "this  is  from  Cob- 
ham.  They  ask  us  up  there  to  dinner  to-day,  and  to  stop 
the  night."  The  doctor  tried  very  hard  to  utter  this  speech 
with  the  unconcern  of  one  alluding  to  some  every-day 
occurrence.  Nay,  he  did  more;  he  endeavored  to  throw 
into  it  a  certain  air  of  fastidious  weariness,  as  though  to 
say,  "See  how  these  people  will  have  me;  mark  how  they 
persecute  me  with  their  attentions !  " 

Polly  understood  the   "situation"  perfectly,  and  it  was 


THE   DOCTOR^'S  DAUGHTER.  67 

with  actual  curiosity  in  her  tone  she  asked,  "Do  you  mean 
to  go,  sir  ?  " 

"I  suppose  we  must,  dear,"  he  said,  with  a  deep  sigh. 
"A  professional  man  is  no  more  the  arbiter  of  his  social 
hours  than  of  his  business  ones.  Cooper  always  said  din- 
ing at  home  costs  a  thousand  a  year." 

"So  much,  papa?"  asked  she,  with  much  semblance  of 
innocence. 

"I  don't  mean  to  myself,"  said  he,  reddening,  "nor  to 
any  physician  in  country  practice;  but  we  all  lose  by  it, 
more  or  less." 

Polly,  meanwhile,  had  taken  the  letter,  and  was  reading 
it  over.  It  was  very  brief.  It  had  been  originally  begun, 
"Lady  Cobham  presents,"  but  a  pen  was  run  through  the 
words,  and  it  ran,  — 

"  Dear  Dr.  Dill,  —  If  a  short  notice  will  not  inconvenience  you, 
will  you  and  your  daughter  dine  here  to-day  at  seven  ?     There  is  no 
moon,  and  we  shall  expect  you  to  stay  the  night. 
"  Truly  yours, 

"Georgiana  Cobham. 

♦'  The  Admiral  hopes  Miss  D.  will  not  forget  to  bring  her  music." 

"Then  we  go,  sir?"  asked  she,  with  eagerness;  for  it 
was  a  house  to  which  she  had  never  yet  been  invited,  though 
she  had  long  wished  for  the  entree. 

"I  shall  go,  certainly,"  said  he.  "As  to  you,  there  will 
be  the  old  discussion  with  your  mother  as  to  clothes,  and 
the  usual  declaration  that  you  have  really  nothing  to  put 
on." 

"Oh!  but  I  have,  papa.  My  wonderful-worked  muslin, 
that  was  to  have  astonished  the  world  at  the  race  ball,  but 
which  arrived  too  late,  is  now  quite  ready  to  captivate  all 
beholders;  and  I  have  just  learned  that  new  song,  '  Where  's 
the  slave  so  lowly?  '  which  I  mean  to  give  with  a  most  re- 
bellious fers^or;  and,  in  fact,  I  am  dying  to  assault  this 
same  fortress  of  Cobham,  and  see  what  it  is  like  inside  the 
citadel." 

"Pretty  much  like  Woodstay,  and  the  Grove,  and  Mount 
Kelly,  and  the  other  places  we' go  to,"  said  Dill,  pompously. 


68  BARRINGTOX. 

"The  same  sort  of  rooms,  the  same  sort  of  dinner,  the  same 
company;  nothing  different  but  the  liveries." 

"  Very  true,  papa ;  but  there  is  always  an  interest  in  see- 
ing how  people  behave  in  their  own  house,  whom  you  have 
never  seen  except  in  strangers'.  I  have  met  Lady  Cobhani 
at  the  Beachers',  where  she  scarcely  noticed  me.  1  am 
curious  to  see  what  sort  of  reception  she  will  vouchsafe  me 
at  home." 

"Well,  go  and  look  after  your  things,  for  we  have  eight 
miles  to  drive,  and  Billy  has  already  been  at  Dangan  and 
over  to  Mooney's  Mills,  and  he  's  not  the  fresher  for  it." 

"I  suppose  1  'd  better  take  my  hat  and  habit,  papa?  " 

"What  for,  child?" 

"Just  as  you  always  carry  your  lancets,  papa,  — you  don't 
know  what  may  turn  up."  And  she  was  off  before  he  could 
answer  her. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TOM    dill's    first   PATIENT. 

Before  Tom  Dill  had  set  out  on  his  errand  he  had  learned 
all  about  his  father  and  sister's  dinner  engagement;  nor 
did  the  contrast  with  the  way  in  which  his  own  time  was  to 
be  passed  at  all  improve  his  temper.  Indeed,  he  took  the 
opportunity  of  intimating  to  his  mother  how  few  favors  fell 
to  her  share  or  his  own,  —  a  piece  of  information  she  very 
philosophically  received,  all  her  sympathies  being  far  more 
interested  for  the  sorrows  of  "Clarissa  Harlowe"  than  for 
any  incident  that  occurred  around  her.  Poor  old  lady !  she 
had  read  that  story  over  and  over  again,  till  it  might  seem 
that  every  word  and  every  comma  in  it  had  become  her  own ; 
but  she  was  blessed  with  a  memory  that  retained  nothing, 
and  she  could  cry  over  the  sorrowful  bits,  and  pant  with 
eagerness  at  the  critical  ones,  just  as  passionately,  just  as 
fervently,  as  she  had  done  for  years  and  years  before.  Dim, 
vague  perceptions  she  might  have  retained  of  the  person- 
ages, but  these  only  gave  them  a  stronger  truthfulness,  and 
made  them  more  like  the  people  of  the  real  world,  whom  she 
had  seen,  passingly,  once,  and  was  now  to  learn  more  about. 
I  doubt  if  Mezzofahti  ever  derived  one  tenth  of  the  pleasure 
from  all  his  marvellous  memory  that  she  did  from  the 
want  of  one. 

Blessed  with  that  one  book,  she  was  proof  against  all  the 
common  accidents  of  life.  It  was  her  sanctuary  against 
duns,  and  difficulties,  and  the  doctor's  temper.  As  the 
miser  feels  a  sort  of  ecstasy  in  the  secret  of  his  hoarded 
wealth,  so  had  she  an  intense  enjoyment  in  thinking  that  all 
dear  Clarissa's  trials  and  sufferings  were  only  known  to  her. 
Neither  the  doctor,  nor  Polly,  nor  Tom,  so  much  as  sus* 


70  BARRINGTON. 

pected  them.  It  was  like  a  confidence  between  Mr.  Richard- 
son and  herself,  and  for  nothing  on  earth  would  she  have 
betrayed  it. 

Tom  had  no  such  resources,  and  he  set  out  on  his  mission 
with  no  very  remarkable  good  feeling  towards  the  world  at 
large.  Still,  Polly  had  pressed  into  his  hand  a  gold  half- 
guinea,  —  some  very  long- treasured  keepsake,  the  birthday 
fift  of  a  godmother  in  times  remote,  and  now  to  be  con- 
verted into  tobacco  and  beer,  and  some  articles  of  fishing- 
gear  which  he  greatly  needed. 

Seated  in  one  of  those  light  canoe-shaped  skiffs,  —  "cots," 
as  they  are  called  on  these  rivers, —  he  suffered  himself  to  be 
carried  lazily  along  by  the  stream,  while  he  tied  his  flies  and 
adjusted  his  tackle.  There  is,  sometimes,  a  stronger  sense 
of  unhappiness  attached  to  what  is  called  being  "hardly 
used"  by  the  world,  than  to  a  direct  palpable  misfortune; 
for  though  the  sufferer  may  not  be  able,  even  to  his  own 
heart,  to  set  out,  with  clearness,  one  single  count  in  the 
indictment,  yet  a  general  sense  of  hard  treatment,  unfair- 
ness, and  so  forth,  brings  with  it  great  depression,  and  a 
feeling  of  desolation. 

Like  all  young  fellows  of  his  stamp,  Tom  only  saw  his 
inflictions,  not  one  of  his  transgressions.  He  knew  that  his 
father  made  a  common  drudge  of  him,  employed  him  in  all 
that  was  wearisome  and  even  menial  in  his  craft,  admitted 
him  to  no  confidences,  gave  him  no  counsels,  and  treated 
him  In  every  way  like  one  who  was  never  destined  to  rise 
above  the  meanest  cares  and  lowest  duties.  Even  those 
little  fleeting  glances  at  a  brighter  future  which  Polly  would 
now  and  then  open  to  his  ambition,  never  came  from  his 
father,  who  would  actually  ridicule  the  notion  of  his  obtain- 
infy  a  degree,  and  make  the  thought  of  a  commission  in  the 
service  a  subject  for  mockery. 

He  was  low  in  heart  as  he  thought  over  these  things.  "If 
it  were  not  for  Polly,"  so  he  said  to  himself,  "he  'd  go  and 
enlist;"  or,  as  his  boat  slowly  floated  into  a  dark  angle  of 
the  stream  where  the  water  was  still  and  the  shadow  deep, 
he  even  felt  he  could  do  worse.  "Poor  Polly!  "  said  he,  as 
he  moved  his  hand  to  and  fro  in  the  cold  clear  water,  "you  'd 
be  very,  very  sorry  for  me.     You,  at  least,  knew  that  I  was 


TOM  DILL'S  FIRST  PATIENT.  71 

not  all  bad,  and  that  I  wanted  to  be  better.  It  was  no  fault 
of  mine  to  have  a  head  that  couldn't  learn.  I'd  be  clever 
if  I  could,  aud  do  everything  as  well  as  she  does;  but  when 
they  see  that  I  have  no  talents,  that  if  they  put  the  task 
before  me  I  cannot  master  it,  sure  they  ought  to  pity  me, 
not  blame  me."  And  then  he  bent  over  the  boat  and  looked 
down  eagerly  into  the  water,  till,  by  long  dint  of  gazing,  he 
saw,  or  he  thought  he  saw,  the  gravelly  bed  beneath;  aud 
again  he  swept  his  hand  through  it,  —  it  was  cold,  and 
caused  a  slight  shudder.  Then,  suddenly,  with  some  fresh 
impulse,  he  threw  off  his  cap,  and  kicked  his  shoes  from 
him.  His  trembling  hands  buttoned  and  unbuttoned  his 
coat  with  some  infirm,  uncertain  purpose.  He  stopped  and 
listened ;  he  heard  a  sound ;  there  was  some  one  near,  — 
quite  near.  He  bent  down  aud  peered  under  the  branches 
that  hung  over  the  stream,  and  there  he  saw  a  very  old  and 
infirm  man,  so  old  and  infirm  that  he  could  barely  creep. 
He  had  been  carrying  a  little  bundle  of  fagots  for  firewood, 
and  the  cord  had  given  way,  and  his  burden  fallen,  scat- 
tered, to  the  ground.  This  was  the  noise  Tom  had  heard. 
For  a  few  minutes  the  old  man  seemed  overwhelmed  with 
his  disaster,  and  stood  motionless,  contemplating  it;  then, 
as  it  were,  taking  courage,  he  laid  down  "his  staff,  and 
bending  on  his  knees,  set  slowly  to  work  to  gather  up  his 
fagots. 

There  are  minutes  in  the  lives  of  all  of  us  when  some 
simple  incident  will  speak  to  our  hearts  with  a  force  that 
human  words  never  carried,  —  when  the  most  trivial  event 
will  teach  a  lesson  that  all  our  wisdom  never  gave  us. 
"Poor  old  fellow,"  said  Tom,  "he  has  a  stout  heart  left  to 
him  still,  and  he  '11  not  leave  his  load  behind  him!  "  And 
then  his  own  craven  spirit  flashed  across  him,  and  he  hid 
his  face  in  his  hand  and  cried  bitterly. 

Suddenly  rousing  himself  with  a  sort  of  convulsive  shake, 
he  sent  the  skiff  with  a  strong  shove  in  shore,  and  gave  the 
old  fellow  what  remained  to  him  of  Polly's  present;  and 
then,  with  a  lighter  spirit  than  he  had  known  for  many  a 
day,  rowed  manfully  on  his  way. 

The  evening  —  a  soft,  mellow,  summer  evening  —  was  just 
falling  as  Tom  reached  the  little  boat  quay  at  the  "Fisher- 


72  BARRING  TON, 

man's  Home,"  —  a  spot  it  was  seldom  his  fortune  to  visit, 
but  one  for  whose  woodland  beauty  and  trim  comfort  he 
had  a  deep  admiration.  He  would  have  liked  to  have  lin- 
gered a  little  to  inspect  the  boat-house,  and  the  little  aviary 
over  it,  and  the  small  cottage  on  the  island,  and  the  little 
terrace  made  to  fish  from ;  but  Darby  had  caught  sight  of 
him  as  he  landed,  and  came  hurriedly  down  to  say  that  the 
young  gentleman  was  growing  very  impatient  for  his  com- 
ing, and  was  even  hinting  at  sending  for  another  doctor  if 
he  should  not  soon  appear. 

If  Conyers  was  as  impatient  as  Darby  represented,  he  had, 
at  least,  surrounded  himself  with  every  appliance  to  allay 
the  fervor  of  that  spirit.  He  had  dined  under  a  spreading 
sycamore- tree,  and  now  sat  with  a  table  richly  covered  be- 
fore him.  Fruit,  flowers,  and  wine  abounded,  with  a  pro- 
fusion that  might  have  satisfied  several  guests ;  for,  as  he 
understood  that  he  was  to  consider  himself  at  an  inn,  he 
resolved,  by  ordering  the  most  costly  things,  to  give  the 
house  all  the  advantage  of  his  presence.  The  most  delicious 
hothouse  fruit  had  been  procured  from  the  gardener  of  an 
absent  proprietor  in  the  neighborhood,  and  several  kinds  of 
wine  figured  on  the  table,  over  which,  and  half  shadowed  by 
the  leaves,  a  lamp  had  been  suspended,  throwing  a  fitful 
light  over  all,  that  imparted  a  most  picturesque  effect  to  the 
scene. 

And  yet,  amidst  all  these  luxuries  and  delights,  Bal- 
shazzar  was  discontented;  his  ankle  pained  him;  he  had 
been  hobbling  about  on  it  all  day,  and  increased  the  inflam- 
mation considerably;  and,  besides  this,  he  was  lonely;  he 
had  no  one  but  Darby  to  talk  to,  and  had  grown  to  feel  for 
that  sapient  functionary  a  perfect  abhorrence, — his  ever- 
lasting compliance,  his  eternal  coincidence  with  everything, 
being  a  torment  infinitely  worse  than  the  most  dogged  and 
mulish  opposition.  When,  therefore,  he  heard  at  last  the 
doctor's  son  had  come  with  the  leeches,  he  hailed  him  as  a 
welcome  guest. 

"What  a  time  you  have  kept  me  waiting!  "  said  he,  as  the 
loutish  young  man  came  forward,  so  astounded  by  the  scene 
before  him  that  he  lost  all  presence  of  mind.  "I  have  been 
looking  out  for  you  since  three  o'clock,  and  pottering  down 


TOM   DILL'S   FIRST  PATIENT.  73 

the  river  and  back  so  often,  that  I  have  made  the  leg  twice 
as  thick  again." 

•'Why  didn't  you  sit  quiet?"  said  Tom,  in  a  hoarse, 
husky  tone. 

"Sit  quiet!  "  replied  Conyers,  staring  half  angrily  at  him; 
and  then  as  quickly  perceiving  that  no  impertinence  had 
been  intended,  which  the  other's  changing  color  and  evident 
confusion  attested,  he  begged  him  to  take  a  chair  and  fill 
his  o-lass.  "That  next  you  is  some  sort  of  Rhine  wine:  this 
is  sherry;  and  here  is  the  very  best  claret  I  ever  tasted." 

"Well,  I  '11  take  that,"  said  Tom,  who,  accepting  the 
recommendation  amidst  luxuries  all  new  and  strange  to 
him,  proceeded  to  fill  his  glass,  but  so  tremblingly  that  he 
spilled  the  wine  all  about  the  table,  and  then  hurriedly 
wiped  it  up  with  his  handkerchief, 

Conyers  did  his  utmost  to  set  his  guest  at  his  ease.  He 
passed  his  cigar-case  across  the  table,  and  led  him  on,  as 
well  as  he  might,  to  talk.  But  Tom  was  awestruck,  not 
alone  by  the  splendors  around  him,  but  by  the  condescen- 
sion of  his  host;  and  he  could  not  divest  himself  of  the 
notion  that  he  must  have  been  mistaken  for  somebody  else, 
to  whom  all  these  blandishments  might  be  rightfully  due. 

"Are  you  fond  of  shooting?"  asked  Conyers,  trying  to 
engage  a  conversation. 

"Yes,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

"There  must  be  good  sport  hereabouts,  I  should  say.  Is 
the  game  well  preserved  ?  " 

"Too  well  for  such  as  me.  I  never  get  a  shot  without  the 
risk  of  a  jail,  and  it  would  be  cheaper  for  me  to  kill  a  cow 
than  a  woodcock !  "  There  was  a  stern  gravity  in  the  way 
he  said  this  that  made  it  irresistibly  comic,  and  Conyers 
laughed  out  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Haven't  you  a  game  license?"  asked  he. 

"Haven't  I  a  coach-aud-six?  Where  would  I  get  four 
pounds  seven  and  ten  to  pay  for  it?" 

The  appeal  was  awkward,  and  for  a  moment  Conyers  was 
silent.     At  last  he  said,  "You  fish,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes;  I  kill  a  salmon  whenever  I  get  a  quiet  spot  that 
nobody  sees  me,  and  I  draw  the  river  now  and  then  with  a 
net  at  night." 


74  BARRINGTON. 

"That's  poaching,  I  take  it." 

"It's  uot  the  worse  for  that!  "  said  Tom,  whose  pluck 
was  by  this  time  considerably  assisted  by  the  claret. 

"Well,  it's  an  unfair  way,  at  all  events,  and  destro3'S 
real  sport." 

"Real  sport  is  filling  your  basket." 

"No,  no;  there's  no  real  sport  in  doing  anything  that's 
unfair,  —  anything  that's  uu —  "  He  stopped  short,  and 
swallowed  off  a  glass  of  wine  to  cover  his  confusion. 

"That's  all  mighty  fine  for  you,  who  can  not  only  pay 
for  a  license,  but  you  're  just  as  sure  to  be  invited  here, 
there,  and  everywhere  there  's  game  to  be  killed.  But  think 
of  ?»e,  that  never  snaps  a  cap,  never  throws  a  line,  but  he 
knows  it 's  worse  than  robbing  a  hen-roost,  and  often, 
maybe,  just  as  fond  of  it  as  yourself!  " 

Whether  it  was  that,  coming  after  Darby's  mawkish  and 
servile  agreement  with  everything,  this  rugged  nature 
seemed  more  palatable,  I  cannot  say ;  but  so  it  was,  Con- 
yers  felt  pleasure  in  talking  to  this  rough  unpolished  crea- 
ture, and  hearing  his  opinions  in  turn.  Had  there  been  in 
Tom  Dill's  manner  the  slightest  shade  of  any  pretence,  was 
there  any  element  of  that  which,  for  want  of  a  better  word, 
we  call  "snobbery,"  Conyers  would  not  have  endured  him 
for  a  moment,  but  Tom  was  perfectly  devoid  of  this  vul- 
garity. He  was  often  coarse  in  his  remarks,  his  expres- 
sions were  rarely  measured  by  any  rule  of  good  manners; 
but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  never  intended  offence,  nor 
did  he  so  much  as  suspect  that  he  could  give  that  weight  to 
any  opinion  which  he  uttered  to  make  it  of  moment. 

Besides  these  points  in  Tom's  favor,  there  was  another, 
which  also  led  Conyers  to  converse  with  him.  There  is 
soine  very  subtle  self-flattery  in  the  condescension  of  one 
well  to  do  in  all  the  gifts  of  fortune  associating,  in  an 
assumed  equality,  with  some  poor  fellow  to  whom  fate  has 
assigned  the  shady  side  of  the  highway.  Scarcely  a  sub- 
ject can  be  touched  without  suggesting  something  for  self- 
gratulation;  every  comparison,  every  contrast  is  in  his 
favor,  and  Conyers,  without  being  more  of  a  puppy  than  the 
majority  of  his  order,  constantly  felt  how  immeasurably 
above  all  his  guest's  views  of  his  life  and  the  world  were 


TOM  DILL'S  FIRST  PATIENT.  75 

his  own, —  not  alone  that  he  was  more  moderate  in  language 
and  less  prone  to  attribute  evil,  but  with  a  finer  sense  of 
honor  and  a  wider  feeling  of  liberality. 

When  Tom  at  last,  with  some  shame,  remembered  that 
he  had  forgotten  all  about  the  real  object  of  his  mission, 
and  had  never  so  much  as  alluded  to  the  leeches,  Couyers 
only  laughed  and  said,  "Never  mind  them  to-night.  Come 
back  to-morrow  and  put  them  on ;  and  mind,  —  come  to 
breakfast  at  ten  or  eleven  o'clock." 

"What  am  I  to  say  to  my  father?  " 

"Say  it  was  a  whim  of  mine,  which  it  is.  You  are  quite 
ready  to  do  this  matter  now.  I  see  it;  but  I  say  no.  Is  n't 
that  enough  ?  " 

"I  suppose  so!"  muttered  Tom,  with  a  sort  of  dogged 
misgiving. 

"It  strikes  me  that  you  have  a  very  respectable  fear  of 
your  governor.     Am  I  right?  " 

"Ain't  you  afraid  of  yours?"  bluntly  asked  the  other. 

"Afraid  of  mine!  "  cried  Conyers,  with  a  loud  laugh;  "I 
should  think  not.  Why,  my  father  and  myself  are  as  thick 
as  two  thieves.  I  never  was  in  a  scrape  that  I  did  n't  tell 
him.  I  'd  sit  down  this  minute  and  write  to  him  just  as  I 
would  to  any  fellow  in  the  regiment." 

"Well,  there  's  only  one  in  all  the  world  I'd  tell  a  secret 
to,  and  it  is  n't  my  father!  " 

"Who  is  it,  then?" 

"My  sister  Polly!"  It  was  impossible  to  have  uttered 
these  words  with  a  stronger  sense  of  pride.  He  dwelt 
slowly  upon  each  of  them,  and,  when  he  had  finished,  looked 
as  though  he  had  said  something  utterly  undeniable. 

"Here  's  her  health,  —  in  a  bumper  too!  "  cried  Conyers. 

"Hurray,  hurray!  "  shouted  out  Tom,  as  he  tossed  off  his 
full  glass,  and  set.  it  on  the  table  with  a  bang  that  smashed 
it.  "Oh,  I  beg  pardon!  I  didn't  mean  to  break  the 
tumbler." 

"Never  mind  it,  Dill ;  it 's  a  trifle.  I  half  hoped  you  had 
done  it  on  purpose,  so  that  the  glass  should  never  be  drained 
to  a  less  honored  toast.     Is  she  like  yon  ?  " 

"Like  me,  —  like  me?"  asked  he,  coloring  deeply. 
"Polly  like  me  .^" 


76  BARRINGTON. 

"I  mean  is  there  a  family  resemblance?  Could  you  be 
easily  known  as  brother  and  sister?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Polly  is  the  prettiest  girl  in  this  county, 
and  she  's  better  than  she  's  handsome.  There  's  nothing 
she  can't  do.  I  taught  her  to  tie  flies,  and  she  can  put 
wings  on  a  green-drake  now  that  would  take  in  any  salmon 
that  ever  swam.  Martin  Keene  sent  her  a  pound-note  for 
a  book  of  '  brown  hackles,'  and,  by  the  way,  she  gave  it  to 
me.  And  if  you  saw  her  on  the  back  of  a  horse!  —  Ambrose 
Bushe's  gray  mare,  the  wickedest  devil  that  ever  was  bridled, 
one  buck  jump  after  another  the  length  of  a  field,  and  the 
mare  trying  to  get  her  head  between  her  fore-legs,  and  Polly 
handling  her  so  quiet,  never  out  of  temper,  never  hot,  but 
always  saying,  '  Ain't  you  ashamed  of  yourself.  Dido? 
Don't  you  see  them  all  laughing  at  us?  '  " 

"I  am  quite  curious  to  see  her.  Will  you  present  me  one 
of  these  days?  " 

Tom  mumbled  out  something  perfectly  unintelligible. 

"I  hope  that  I  may  be  permitted  to  make  her  acquaint- 
ance," repeated  he,  not  feeling  very  certain  that  his  former 
speech  was  quite  understood. 

"Maybe  so,"  grumbled  he  out  at  last,  and  sank  back  in 
his  chair  with  a  look  of  sulky  ill-humor;  for  so  it  was  that 
poor  Tom,  in  his  ignorance  of  life  and  its  ways,  deemed  the 
proposal  one  of  those  free-and-easy  suggestions  which  might 
be  made  to  persons  of  very  inferior  station,  and  to  whom 
the  fact  of  acquaintanceship  should  be  accounted  as  a  great 
honor. 

Conyers  was  provoked  at  the  little  willingness  shown  to 
meet  his  offer,  —  an  offer  he  felt  to  be  a  very  courteous  piece 
of  condescension  on  his  part,  —  and  now  both  sat  in  silence. 
At  last  Tom  Dill,  long  struggling  with  some  secret  impulse, 
gave  way,  and  in  a  tone  far  more  decided  and  firm  than 
heretofore,  said,  "Maybe  you  think,  from  seeing  what  sort 
of  a  fellow  I  am,  that  my  sister  ought  to  be  like  me ;  and 
because  1  have  neither  manners  nor  education,  that  she  's 
the  same?  But  listen  to  me  now;  she  's  just  as  little  like 
me  as  you  are  yourself.  You  're  not  more  of  a  gentleman 
than  she  's  a  lady!  " 

"I  never  imagined  anything  else." 


TOM  DILL'S   FIRST  PATIENT.  77 

"And  what  made  you  talk  of  bringing  her  up  here  to 
present  her  to  you,  as  you  called  it?  Was  she  to  be  trotted 
out  in  a  eavasin,  like  a  filly  ?  " 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Conyers,  good-humoredly,  "you 
never  made  a  greater  mistake.  1  begged  that  you  would 
present  me  to  your  sister.  I  asked  the  sort  of  favor  which 
is  very  common  in  the  world,  and  in  the  language  usually 
employed  to  convey  such  a  request.  I  observed  the  recog- 
nized etiquette  —  " 

"  What  do  /  know  about  etiquette?  If  you'd  have  said, 
'  Tom  Dill,  I  want  to  be  introduced  to  your  sister,'  I  'd  have 
guessed  what  you  were  at,  and  I  'd  have  said,  '  Come  back  in 
the  boat  with  me  to-morrow,  and  so  you  shall.'" 

"It's  a  bargain,  then.  Dill.  I  want  two  or  three  things 
in  the  village,  and  1  accept  your  offer  gladly." 

Not  only  was  peace  now  ratified  between  them,  but  a 
closer  feeling  of  intimacy  established ;  for  poor  Tom,  not 
much  spoiled  by  any  excess  of  the  world's  sympathy,  was  so 
delighted  by  the  kindly  interest  shown  him,  that  he  launched 
out  freely  to  tell  all  about  himself  and  his  fortunes,  how 
hardly  treated  he  was  at  home,  and  how  ill  usage  had  made 
him  despondent,  and  despondency  made  him  dissolute.  "  It 's 
all  very  well  to  rate  a  fellow  about  his  taste  for  low  pleasures 
and  low  companions ;  but  what  if  he 's  not  rich  enough  for 
better?  He  takes  them  just  as  he  smokes  cheap  tobacco, 
because  he  can  afford  no  other.  And  do  you  know,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  you  are  the  first  real  gentleman  that  ever  said  a 
kind  word  to  me,  or  asked  me  to  sit  down  in  his  company. 
It 's  even  so  strange  to  me  yet,  that  maybe  when  I  'm  rowing 
home  to-night  I  '11  think  it 's  all  a  dream,  —  that  it  was  the 
wine  got  into  my  head." 

"  Is  not  some  of  this  your  own  fault?  "  broke  in  Conyers. 
"What  if  3'ou  had  held  your  head  higher  — " 

"  Hold  my  head  higher !  "  interrupted  Tom.  "  With  this 
on  it,  eh  ?  "  And  he  took  up  his  ragged  and  worn  cap  from 
the  ground,  and  showed  it.  "Pride  is  a  very  fine  thing 
when  you  can  live  up  to  it ;  but  if  you  can't  it 's  only  ridicu- 
lous. I  don't  say,"  added  he,  after  a  few  minutes  of  silence, 
"  but  if  I  was  far  away  from  this,  where  nobody  knew  me, 
where  I  did  n't  owe  little  debts  on  every  side,  and  was  n't 


78  BARRINGTON. 

obliged  to  be  intimate  with  every  idle  vagabond  about  —  I 
don't  say  but  I  'd  try  to  be  somelhiug  better.  If,  for 
instance,  I  could  get  into  the  navy  — " 

"  Why  not  the  army?     You  'd  like  it  better." 

"Ay!  but  it's  far  harder  to  get  into.  There's  many  a 
rough  fellow  like  myself  aboard  ship  that  they  would  n't 
take  in  a  regiment.  Besides,  how  could  I  get  in  without 
interest?  " 

"My  father  is  a  Lieutenant-General.  I  don't  know 
whether  he  could  be  of  service  to  you." 

"A  Lieutenant-General!"  repeated  Tom,  with  the  rever- 
ential awe  of  one  alluding  to  an  actual  potentate. 

"  Yes.  He  has  a  command  out  in  India,  where  I  feel  full 
sure  he  could  give  you  something.  Suppose  you  were  to  go 
out  there?  I'd  write  a  letter  to  my  father  and  ask  him  to 
befriend  you." 

"  It  would  take  a  fortune  to  pay  the  journey,"  said  Tom, 
despondingly. 

' '  Not  if  you  went  out  on  service ;  the  Government  would 
send  you  free  of  cost.  And  even  if  you  were  not,  I  think  we 
might  manage  it.     Speak  to  your  father  about  it." 

"  No,"  said  he,  slowly.  "  No ;  but  I  '11  talk  it  over  with 
Polly.  Not  but  I  know  well  she  '11  say,  '  There  you  are, 
castle-building  and  romancing.  It 's  all  moonshine  !  No- 
body ever  took  notice  of  you,  —  nobody  said  he  'd  interest 
himself  about  you.'" 

"That's  easily  remedied.  If  you  like  it,  I'll  tell  your 
sister  all  about  it  myself.  I  '11  tell  her  it 's  my  plan,  and  I  '11 
show  her  what  I  think  are  good  reasons  to  believe  it  will  be 
successful." 

"  Oh !  would  you  —  would  you  !  "  cried  he,  with  a  choking 
sensation  in  the  throat;  for  his  gratitude  had  made  him 
almost  hysterical. 

"  Yes,"  resumed  Conyers.  "  When  you  come  up  here  to- 
morrow, we  '11  arrange  it  all.  I  '11  turn  the  matter  all  over  in 
my  mind,  too,  and  I  have  little  doubt  of  our  being  able  to 
carry  it  through." 

"  You  '11  not  tell  my  father,  though?  " 

"  Not  a  word,  if  you  forbid  it.  At  the  same  time,  you 
must  see  that  he'll  have  to  hear  it  all  later  on." 


TOM   DILL'S  FIRST  PATIENT.  79 

"  I  suppose  so,"  muttered  Tom,  moodily,  and  leaned  his 
head  thoughtfully  on  his  hand.  But  one  half-hour  back  and 
he  would  have  told  Couyers  why  he  desired  this  conceal- 
ment ;  he  would  have  declared  that  his  father,  caring  more 
for  his  services  than  his  future  good,  would  have  thrown 
every  obstacle  to  his  promotion,  and  would  even,  if  need 
were,  have  so  represented  him  to  Conyers  that  he  would  have 
appeared  utterly  unworthy  of  his  interest  and  kindness ;  but 
now  not  one  word  of  all  this  escaped  hiin.  He  never  hinted 
another  reproach  against  his  father,  for  already  a  purer 
spring  had  opened  in  his  nature,  the  rocky  heart  had  been 
smitten  by  words  of  gentleness,  and  he  would  have  revolted 
against  that  which  should  degrade  him  in  his  own  esteem. 

"  Good  night,"  said  Conyers,  with  a  hearty  shake  of  the 
hand,  '•  and  don't  forget  your  breakfast  engagement  to- 
morrow." 

"What's  this?"  said  Tom,  blushing  deeply,  as  he  found 
a  crumpled  bank-note  in  his  palm. 

"It's  your  fee,  my  good  fellow,  that's  all,"  said  the 
other,  laughingly. 

"  But  I  can't  take  a  fee.  I  have  never  done  so.  I  have 
no  right  to  one.     I  am  not  a  doctor  yet." 

"  The  very  first  lesson  in  your  profession  is  not  to  anger 
your  patient ;  and  if  you  would  not  provoke  me,  say  no  more 
on  this  matter."  There  was  a  half-semblance  of  haughti- 
ness in  these  words  that  perhaps  the  speaker  never  intended  ; 
at  all  events,  he  was  quick  enough  to  remedy  the  effect,  for 
he  laid  his  hand  good-naturedly  on  the  other's  shoulder  and 
said,  "For  my  sake.  Dill,  —  for  my  sake." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  I  ought  to  do,"  said  Tom,  whose  pale 
cheek  actually  trembled  with  agitation.  "  I  mean,"  said  he, 
in  a  shaken  voice,  "  I  wish  I  knew  what  would  make  you 
think  best  of  me." 

"  Do  you  attach  so  much  value  to  my  good  opinion,  then?  " 

"Don't  you  think  I  might?  When  did  I  ever  meet  any 
one  that  treated  me  this  way  before?" 

The  agitation  in  which  he  uttered  these  few  words  imparted 
such  a  semblance  of  weakness  to  him  that  Conyers  pressed 
him  down  into  a  chair,  and  filled  up  his  glass  with  wine. 

"Take  that  off,  and  you '11  be  all  right  presently,"  said 
he,  in  a  kind  tone. 


80  BAllRLN'GTOX. 

Tom  tried  to  carry  the  glass  to  his  lips,  but  his  hand 
trembled  so  that  he  had  to  set  it  dowu  ou  the  table. 

•'  i  don't  know  how  to  say  it,"  began  he,  "  and  I  don't 
know  whether  I  ought  to  say  it,  but  somehow  I  feel  as  if  I 
could  give  my  heart's  blood  if  everybody  would  behave  to 
me  the  way  you  do.  I  don't  mean,  mind  you,  so  generously, 
but  treating  me  as  if  —  as  if  —  as  if — "  gulped  he  out  at 
last,   ^  as  if  1  was  a  gentleman." 

"And  why  not?  As  there  is  nothing  in  your  station  that 
should  deny  that  claim,  why  should  any  presume  to  treat 
you  otherwise  ?  " 

"Because  I'm  not  one!"  blurted  he  out;  and  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands,  he  sobbed  bitterly. 

"  Come,  come,  my  poor  fellow,  don't  be  down-hearted. 
I  'm  not  much  older  than  yourself,  but  I  've  seen  a  good  deal 
of  life  ;  and,  mark  my  words,  the  price  a  man  puts  on  himself 
is  the  very  highest  penny  the  world  will  ever  bid  for  him ; 
he'll  not  alwaj's  get  that^  but  he  '11  never  —  no,  never,  get  a 
farthing  beyond  it !  " 

Tom  stared  vacantly  at  the  speaker,  not  very  sure  whether 
he  understood  the  speech,  or  that  it  had  any  special  applica- 
tion to  him. 

"  "When  you  come  to  know  life  as  well  as  I  do,"  con- 
tinued Conyers,  who  had  now  launched  into  a  \Qvy  favorite 
theme,  "j^ou'll  learn  the  truth  of  what  I  say.  Hold  your 
head  high ;  and  if  the  world  desires  to  see  you,  it  must  at 
least  look  up !  " 

"Ay,  but  it  might  laugh  too!"  said  Tom,  with  a  bitter 
gravity,  which  considerably  disconcerted  the  moralist,  who 
pitched  away  his  cigar  impatiently,  and  set  about  selecting 
another. 

"I  suspect  I  understand  yonr  nature.  For,"  said  he, 
after  a  moment  or  two,  "  I  have  rather  a  knack  in  reading 
people.     Just  answer  me  frankly  a  few  questions." 

"Whatever  you  like,"  said  the  other,  in  a  half-sulky  sort 
of  manner. 

"  Mind,"  said  Conyers,  eagerly,  "  as  there  can  be  no 
offence  intended,  you  '11  not  feel  any  by  whatever  I  may 
say." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Tom,  in  the  same  dry  tone. 


TOM  DILL'S  FIRST  PATIENT.  81 

"  Aiu't  you  obstinate?  " 

"I  am." 

"  I  knew  it.  "We  Iiad  not  talked  half  an  hour  together 
when  I  detected  it,  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  That  fellow  is  one 
so  rooted  in  his  own  convictions,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to 
shake  him.'  " 

''  AVhat  next?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  You  can't  readily  forgive  an  injury  ;  you  find  it  very  hard 
to  pardon  the  man  who  has  wronged  you." 

"  I  do  not ;  if  he  did  u't  go  on  persecuting  me,  I  wouldn't 
think  of  him  at  all." 

"Ah,  that's  a  mistake.  Well,  I  know  you  better  than 
you  know  yourself ;  you  do  keep  up  the  memory  of  an  old 
grudge,  — you  can't  help  it." 

"Maybe  so,  but  I  never  knew  it." 

"  You  have,  however,  just  as  strong  a  sentiment  of  grati- 
tude. " 

"I  never  knew  that,  either,"  muttered  he;  "perhaps  be- 
cause it  has  had  so  little  provocation !  " 

"Bear  in  mind,"  said  Conyers,  who  was  rather  discon- 
certed by  the  want  of  concurrence  he  had  met  with,  "that  I 
am  in  a  great  measure  referring  to  latent  qualities,  —  things 
which  probably  require  time  and  circumstances  to  develop." 

"Oh,  if  that 's  it,"  said  Dill,  "I  can  no  more  object  than  I 
could  if  you  talked  to  me  about  what  is  down  a  dozen 
fathoms  in  the  earth  under  our  feet.  It  may  be  granite  or 
it  may  be  gold,  for  what  I  know;  the  only  thing  that  /  see 
is  the  gravel  before  me." 

"I  '11  tell  you  a  trait  of  your  character  you  can't  gainsa}-," 
said  Conyers,  who  was  growing  more  irritated  by  the  oppo- 
sition so  unexpectedly  met  with,  "  and  it 's  one  you  need  not 
dig  a  dozen  fathoms  down  to  discover,  —  you  are  very 
reckless." 

"  Reckless  —  reckless,  —  you  call  a  fellow  reckless  that 
throws  away  his  chance,  I  suppose?" 

"Just  so." 

"But  what  if  he  never  had  one?  " 

"Every  man  has  a  destiny;  every  man  has  that  in  his 
fate  which  he  may  help  to  make  or  to  mar  as  he  inclines  to. 
I  suppose  you  admit  that?" 

VOL.   I.  —  6 


82  BARRINGTON. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  sullen  reply. 

"Not  know?  Surely  you  needn't  be  told  such  a  fact  to 
recognize  it!  " 

"All  I  know  is  this,"  said  Tom,  resolutely,  "that  I 
scarcely  ever  did  anything  in  my  life  that  it  was  n't  found 
out  to  l3e  wrong,  so  that  at  last  1  've  come  to  be  pretty  care- 
less what  I  do;  and  if  it  was  n't  for  Polly,  —  if  it  was  n't 
for  Polly  —  "  He  stopped,  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes, 
and  turned  away,  unable  to  finish. 

"Come,  then,"  said  Conyers,  laying  his  hand  affectionately 
on  the  other's  shoulder,  "add  my  friendship  to  her  love  for 
you,  and  see  if  the  two  will  not  give  you  encoui-agement ; 
for  I  mean  to  be  your  friend.  Dill." 

"Do  you?"  said  Tom,  with  the  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"There  's  my  hand  on  it." 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

FIXE    ACQUAINTANCES. 

There  is  a  law  of  compensation  even  for  the  small  things 
of  this  life,  and  by  the  wise  enactments  of  that  law,  human 
happiness,  on  the  whole,  is  pretty  equally  distributed.  The 
rich  man,  probably,  never  felt  one  tithe  of  the  enjoyment 
in  his  noble  demesne  that  it  yielded  to  some  poor  artisan 
who  strolled  through  it  on  a  holiday,  and  tasted  at  once  the 
charms  of  a  woodland  scene  with  all  the  rapturous  delight 
of  a  day  of  rest. 

Arguing  from  these  premises,  I  greatly  doubt  if  Lady 
Cobham,  at  the  head  of  her  great  household,  with  her  house 
crowded  with  distinguished  visitors,  surrounded  by  every 
accessory  of  luxury  and  splendor,  tasted  anything  approach- 
ing to  the  delight  felt  by  one,  the  very  humblest  of  her 
guests,  and  who  for  a  brief  twenty-four  hours  partook  of 
her  hospitality. 

Polly  Dill,  with  all  her  desire  and  ambition  for  notice 
amongst  the  great  people  of  the  county,  had  gone  to  this 
dinner-party  with  considerable  misgivings.  She  only  knew 
the  Admiral  in  the  hunting-field;  of  her  Ladyship  she  had 
no  knowledge  whatever,  save  in  a  few  dry  sentences  uttered 
to  her  from  a  carriage  one  day  at  "the  meet,"  when  the 
Admiral,  with  more  sailor-like  frankness  than  politeness, 
presented  her  by  saying,  "This  is  the  heroine  of  the  day's 
run.  Dr.  Dill's  daughter."  And  to  this  was  responded  a 
stare  through  a  double  eye-glass,  and  a  cold  smile  and  a 
few  still  colder  words,  affecting  to  be  compliment,  but 
sounding  far  more  like  a  correction  and  a  rebuke. 

No  wonder,  then,  if  Polly's  heart  was  somewhat  faint 
about  approaching  as  a  hostess  one  who  could  be  so  repell- 
ing as  a  mere  acquaintance.'    Indeed,  one  less  resolutely 


84  BARRINGTON. 

beut  on  her  object  would  not  have  encountered  all  the  mor- 
tiflcation  and  misery  her  anticipation  pictured;  but  Polly 
fortilied  herself  by  the  philosophy  that  said,  "There  is  but 
one  road  to  this  goal;  1  must  either  take  that  one,  or 
abandon  the  journey."     And  so  she  did  take  it. 

Either,  however,  that  she  had  exaggerated  the  grievance 
to  her  own  mind,  or  that  her  Ladyship  was  more  courteous 
at  home  than  abroad;  but  Polly  was  charmed  with  the 
kindness  of  her  reception.  Lad}'  Cobham  had  shaken 
hands  with  her,  asked  her  had  she  been  hunting  lately,  and 
was  about  to  speak  of  her  horsemanship  to  a  grim  old  lady 
beside  her,  when  the  arrival  of  other  guests  cut  short  the 
compliment,  and  Polly  passed  on  —  her  heart  lightened  of 
a  great  load  —  to  mix  with  the  general  company. 

I  have  no  doubt  it  was  a  pleasant  country-house ;  it  was 
called  the  pleasantest  in  the  county.  On  the  present  occa- 
sion it  counted  amongst  its  guests  not  only  the  great  fam- 
ilies of  the  neighborhood,  but  several  distinguished  visitors 
from  a  distance,  of  whom  two,  at  least,  are  noteworthy,  — 
one,  the  great  lyric  poet ;  the  other,  the  first  tragic  actress 
of  her  age  and  country.  The  occasion  which  assembled 
them  was  a  project  originally  broached  at  the  Admiral's 
table,  and  so  frequently  discussed  afterwards  that  it 
matured  itself  into  a  congress.  The  plan  was  to  get  up 
theatricals  for  the  winter  season  at  Kilkenny,  in  which  all 
the  native  dramatic  ability  should  be  aided  by  the  first 
professional  talent.  Scarcely  a  country-house  that  could 
not  boast  of,  at  least,  one  promising  performer.  Ruth- 
ven  and  Campion  and  Probart  had  in  their  several  walks 
been  applauded  by  the  great  in  art,  and  there  were  many 
others  wiio  in  the  estimation  of  friends  were  just  as  certain 
of  a  high  success. 

Some  passing  remark  on  Polly's  good  looks,  and  the 
suitability  of  her  face  and  style  for  certain  small  characters 
in  comedy,  —  the  pink  ribboned  damsels  who  are  made  love 
to  by  smart  valets,  —  induced  Lady  Cobham  to  include  her 
in  her  list;  and  thus,  on  these  meagre  credentials,  was  she 
present.  She  did  not  want  notice  or  desire  recognition; 
she  was  far  too  happy  to  be  there,  to  hear  and  see  and 
mark  and  observe  all  around  her,  to  care  for  any  especial 


FINE  ACQUAINTANCES.  85 

attention.  If  the  haughty  Arabellas  and  Georgianas  who 
swept  past  her  without  so  much  as  a  glance,  were  not,  in  her 
own  estimation,  superior  in  personal  attractions,  she  knew 
well  that  they  were  so  in  all  the  accidents  of  station  and  the 
advantages  of  dress ;  and  perhaps  —  who  knows  ?  —  the 
reflection  was  not  such  a  discouraging  one. 

No  memorable  event,  no  incident  worth  recording,  marked 
her  visit.  In  the  world  of  such  society  the  machinery  moves 
with  regularity  and  little  friction.  The  comedy  of  real  life 
is  admirably  played  out  by  the  well-bred,  and  Polly  was 
charmed  to  see  with  what  courtesy,  what  consideration, 
what  deference  people  behaved  to  each  other ;  and  all  with- 
out an  effort,  —  perhaps  without  even  a  thought. 

It  was  on  the  following  day,  when  she  got  home  and  sat 
beside  her  mother's  chair,  that  she  related  all  she  had  seen. 
Her  heart  was  filled  with  joy;  for,  just  as  she  was  taking 
her  leave.  Lady  Cobham  had  said,  "  You  have  been  prom- 
ised to  us  for  Tuesday  next,  Miss  Dill.  Pray  don't  forget 
it!"  And  now  she  was  busily  eugaged  in  the  cares  of 
toilette;  and  though  it  was  a  mere  question  of  putting  bows 
of  a  sky-blue  ribbon  on  a  muslin  dress,  —  one  of  those  little 
travesties  by  which  rustic  beauty  emulates  ball-room  splen- 
dor, —  to  her  eyes  it  assumed  all  the  importance  of  a  grand 
preparation,  and  one  which  she  could  not  help  occasionally 
rising  to  contemplate  at  a  little  distance. 

"Won't  it  be  lovely,  mamma,"  she  said,  "with  a  moss- 
rose  —  a  mere  bud  —  on  each  of  those  bows  ?  But  I  have  n't 
told  you  of  how  he  sang.  He  was  the  smallest  little  crea- 
ture in  the  world,  and  he  tripped  across  the  room  with  his 
tiny  feet  like  a  bird,  and  he  kissed  Lady  Cobham's  hand 
with  a  sort  of  old-world  gallantry,  and  pressed  a  little  sprig 
of  jasmine  she  gave  him  to  his  heart,  — this  way,  —  and  then 
he  sat  down  to  the  piano.  I  thought  it  strange  to  see  a 
man  play!  " 

"Effeminate,  — very,"  muttered  the  old  ladj^  as  she  wiped 
her  spectacles. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,  mamma,  — at  least,  after  a  moment, 
I  lost  all  thought  of  it,  for  I  never  heard  anything  like  his 
singing  before.  He  had  not  much  voice,  nor,  perhaps, 
great   skill,  but  there  was  an  expression  in  the  words,  a 


86  BAR  KINGTON. 

rippliug  melody  with  which  the  verses  ran  from  his  lips, 
while  the  accompauiment  tinkled  on  beside  them,  perfectly 
rapturous.  It  all  seemed  as  if  words  and  air  were  begotten 
of  the  moment,  as  if,  inspired  on  the  instant,  he  poured 
forth  the  verses,  on  which  he  half  dwelt,  while  thinking 
over  what  was  to  follow,  imparting  an  actual  anxiety  as 
you  listened,  lest  he  should  not  be  ready  Avith  his  rhyme; 
and  through  all  there  was  a  triumphant  joy  that  lighted  up 
his  face  and  made  his  eyes  sparkle  with  a  fearless  lustre, 
as  of  one  who  felt  the  genius  that  was  within  him,  and  could 
trust  it."  And  then  he  had  been  so  complimentary  to  her- 
self, called  her  that  charming  little  "  rebel,"  after  she  had 
sung  "Where  's  the  Slave,"  and  told  her  that  until  he  had 
heard  the  words  from  her  lips  he  did  not  know  they  were 
half  so  treasonable.  "But,  mamma  dearest,  I  have  made 
a  conquest ;  and  such  a  conquest,  —  the  hero  of  the  whole 
society,  —  a  Captain  Stapylton,  who  did  something  or 
captured  somebody  at  Waterloo,  —  a  bold  dragoon,  with  a 
gorgeous  pelisse  all  slashed  with  gold,  and  such  a  mass  of 
splendor  that  he  was  quite  dazzling  to  look  upon."  She 
went  on,  still  very  rapturously,  to  picture  him.  "Not  very 
young ;  that  is  to  say,  he  might  be  thirty-five,  or  perhaps  a 
little  more,  —  tall,  stately,  even  dignified  in  appearance, 
with  a  beard  and  moustache  almost  white,  —  for  he  had 
served  much  in  India,  and  he  was  dark-skinned  as  a 
native."  And  this  fine  soldier,  so  sought  after  and  so 
courted,  had  been  markedly  attentive  to  her,  danced  with 
her  twice,  and  promised  she  should  have  his  Arab,  "lyiah- 
moud,"  at  her  next  visit  to  Cobham.  It  was  very  evident 
that  his  notice  of  her  had  called  forth  certain  jealousies 
from  young  ladies  of  higher  social  pretensions,  nor  was 
she  at  all  indifferent  to  the  peril  of  such  sentiments,  though 
she  did  not  speak  of  them  to  her  mother,  for,  in  good  truth, 
that  worthy  woman  was  not  one  to  investigate  a  subtle  prob- 
lem, or  suggest  a  wise  counsel ;  not  to  say  that  her  interests 
were  far  more  deeply  engaged  for  Miss  Harlowe  than  for  her 
daughter  Polly,  seeing  that  in  the  one  case  every  motive, 
and  the  spring  to  every  motive,  was  familiar  to  her,  while 
in  the  other  she  possessed  but  some  vague  and  very  strange 
notions  of  what  was  told  her.     Clarissa  had  made  a  full 


FIXE  ACQUAINTANCES.  87 

confidence  to  her:  she  had  wept  out  her  sorrows  on  her 
bosom,  and  sat  sobbing  on  her  shoulder.  Polly  came  to  her 
with  the  frivolous  narrative  of  a  ball-room  flirtation,  which 
threatened  no  despair  nor  ruin  to  any  one.  Here  were  no 
heart-consuming  miseries,  no  agonizing  terrors,  no  dreadful 
casualties  that  might  darken  a  whole  existence;  and  so  Mrs. 
Dill  scarcely  followed  Polly's  story  at  all,  and  never  with 
any  interest. 

Polly  went  in  search  of  her  brother,  but  he  had  left  home 
early  that  morning  with  the  boat,  no  one  knew  whither,  and 
the  doctor  was  in  a  towering  rage  at  his  absence.  Tom, 
indeed,  was  so  full  of  his  success  with  young  Conyers  that 
he  never  so  much  as  condescended  to  explain  his  plans,  and 
simply  left  a  message  to  say,  "It  was  likely  he  'd  be  back  by 
dinner-time."  Now  Dr.  Dill  was  not  in  one  of  his  blandest 
humors.  Amongst  the  company  at  Cobham,  he  had  found  a 
great  physician  from  Kilkenny,  plainly  showing  him  that  all 
his  social  sacrifices  were  not  to  his  professional  benefit,  and 
that  if  colds  and  catarrhs  were  going,  his  own  services 
would  never  be  called  in.  Captain  Stapylton,  too,  to  whom 
Polly  had  presented  him,  told  him  that  he  "feared  a  young 
brother  officer  of  his,  Lieutenant  Conyers,  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  some  small  village  practitioner,  and  that  he 
would  take  immediate  measures  to  get  him  back  to  head- 
quarters," and  then  moved  off,  without  giving  him  the  time 
for  a  correction  of  the  mistake. 

He  took  no  note  of  his  daughter's  little  triumphs,  the 
admiration  that  she  excited,  or  the  flatteries  that  greeted 
her.  It  is  true  he  did  not  possess  the  same  means  of  meas- 
urins:  these  that  she  had,  and  in  all  that  dreary  leisure  which 
besets  an  unhonored  guest,  he  had  ample  time  to  mope  and 
fret  and  moralize,  as  gloomily  as  might  be.  If,  then,  he 
did  not  enjoy  himself  on  his  visit,  he  came  away  from  it 
soured  and  ill-humored. 

He  denounced  "junketings  "  —  by  which  unseemly  title  he 
designated  the  late  entertainment  —  as  amusements  too 
costly  for  persons  of  his  means.  He  made  a  rough  calcula- 
tion—  a  very  rough  one  —  of  all  that  the  "precious  tom- 
foolery" had  cost:  the  turnpike  which  he  had  paid,  and  the 
perquisites  to  sers'ants  —  which  he  had  not;  the  expense  of 


88  BAHKLN'GTON. 

Polly's  finery,  —  a  hazarded  guess  she  would  have  been 
charmed  to  have  had  confirmed ;  and,  ending  the  whole  with 
a  startling  total,  declared  that  a  reign  of  rigid  domestic 
economy  must  commence  from  that  hour.  The  edict  was 
something  like  what  one  reads  from  the  French  Government, 
when  about  to  protest  against  some  license  of  the  press, 
and  which  opens  by  proclaiming  that  "the  latitude  hitherto 
conceded  to  public  discussion  has  not  been  attended  with 
those  gratifying  results  so  eagerly  anticipated  by  the  Impe- 
rial administration."  Poor  Mrs.  Dill  —  like  a  mere  jour- 
nalist—  never  knew  she  had  been  enjoying  blessings  till  she 
was  told  she  had  forfeited  them  forever,  and  she  heard  with 
a  confused  astonishment  that  the  household  charges  would 
be  still  further  reduced,  and  yet  food  and  fuel  and  light  be 
not  excluded  from  the  supplies.  He  denounced  Polly's 
equestrianism  as  a  most  ruinous  and  extravagant  pursuit. 
Poor  Polly,  whose  field  achievements  had  always  been  on  a 
borrowed  mount!  Tom  was  a  scapegrace,  whose  debts 
would  have  beggared  half-a-dozen  families,  —  wretched  dog, 
to  whom  a  guinea  was  a  gold-mine ;  and  Mrs.  Dill,  unhappy 
Mrs.  Dill,  who  neither  hunted,  nor  smoked,  nor  played 
skittles,  after  a  moment's  pause,  he  told  her  that  his  hard- 
earned  pence  should  not  be  wasted  in  maintaining  a  "circu- 
lating library."  Was  there  ever  injustice  like  this?  Talk 
to  a  man  with  one  meal  a  day  about  gluttony,  lecture  the 
castaway  at  sea  about  not  giving  way  to  his  appetites,  you 
might  just  as  well  do  so  as  to  preach  to  Mrs.  Dill  —  with 
her  one  book,  and  who  never  wanted  another  —  about  the 
discursive  costliness  of  her  readings. 

Could  it  be  that,  like  the  cruel  jailer,  who  killed  the  spider 
the  prisoner  had  learned  to  love,  he  had  resolved  to  rob  her  of 
Clarissa?  The  thought  was  so  overwhelming  that  it  stunned 
her;  and  thus  stupefied,  she  saw  the  doctor  issue  forth  on 
his  daily  round,  without  venturing  one  word  in  answer. 
And  he  rode  on  his  way,  —  on  that  strange  mission  of 
merc}^  meanness,  of  honest  sympathy,  or  mock  philan- 
thropy, as  men's  hearts  and  natures  make  of  it,  — and  set 
out  for  the  "Fisherman's  Home." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   COUNTRY   DOCTOR. 

Ix  a  story,  as  in  a  voj-age,  one  must  occasionally  travel 
with  uncongenial  companions.  Now  I  have  no  reason  for 
hoping  that  any  of  my  readers  care  to  keep  Dr.  Dill's  com- 
pany, and  yet  it  is  with  Dr.  Dill  we  must  now  for  a  brief 
space  foregather.  He  was  on  his  way  to  visit  his  patient 
at  the  "Fisherman's  Home,"  having  started,  intentionally 
very  early,  to  be  there  before  Stapylton  could  have  inter- 
posed with  any  counsels  of  removing  him  to  Kilkenny. 

The  world,  in  its  blind  confidence  in  medical  skill,  and  its 
unbounded  belief  in  certain  practitioners  of  medicine,  is 
but  scantily  just  to  the  humbler  members  of  the  craft  in 
regard  to  the  sensitiveness  with  which  they  feel  the  with- 
drawal of  a  patient  from  their  care,  and  the  substitution  of 
another  physician.  The  doctor  who  has  not  only  heard,  but 
felt  Babington's  adage,  that  the  difference  between  a  good 
physician  and  a  bad  one  is  only  "the  difference  between  a 
pound  and  a  guinea,"  naturally  thinks  it  a  hard  thing  that 
his  interests  are  to  be  sacrificed  for  a  mere  question  of 
five  per  cent.  He  knows,  besides,  that  they  can  each  work 
on  the  same  materials  with  the  same  tools,  and  it  can  be 
only  through  some  defect  in  his  self-confidence  that  he  can 
bring  himself  to  believe  that  the  patient's  chances  are  not 
pretty  much  alike  in  his  hands  or  his  rival's.  Now  Dr.  Dill 
had  no  feelings  of  this  sort;  no  undervaluing  of  himself 
found  a  place  in  his  nature.  He  regarded  medical  men  as 
tax-gatherers,  and  naturally  thought  it  mattered  but  little 
which  received  the  impost;  and,  thus  reflecting,  he  bore  no. 
good  will  towards  that  gallant  Captain,  who,  as  we  have 
seen,  stood  so  well  in  his  daughter's  favor.  Even  hardened 
men  of  the  world  —  old  footsore  pilgrims  of  life  —  have  their 


90  BAKRINGTON. 

prejudices,  and  one  of  these  is  to  be  pleased  at  thinking 
they  had  augured  unfavorably  of  any  one  they  had  after- 
wards learned  to  dislike.  It  smacks  so  much  of  acuteness 
to  be  able  to  say,  "I  was  scarcely  presented  to  him;  we 
had  not  exchanged  a  dozen  sentences  when  I  saw  this,  that, 
and  t'other."  Dill  knew  this  man  was  overbearing,  inso- 
lent, and  oppressive,  that  he  was  meddlesome  and  interfer- 
ing, giving  advice  unasked  for,  and  presuming  to  direct 
where  no  guidance  was  required.  He  suspected  he  was  not 
a  man  of  much  fortune ;  he  doubted  he  was  a  man  of  good 
family.  All  his  airs  of  pretensions  —  very  high  and  mighty 
they  were  —  did  not  satisfy  the  doctor.  As  he  said  him- 
self, he  was  a  very  old  bird,  but  he  forgot  to  add  that  he 
had  always  lived  in  an  extremely  small  cage. 

The  doctor  had  to  leave  his  horse  on  the  high-road  and 
take  a  small  footpath,  which  led  through  some  meadows  till 
it  reached  the  little  copse  of  beech  and  ilex  that  sheltered 
the  cottage  and  effectually  hid  it  from  all  view  from  the 
road.  The  doctor  had  just  gained  the  last  stile,  when  he 
suddenly  came  upon  a  man  repairing  a  fence,  and  whose 
labors  were  being  overlooked  by  Miss  Barrington.  He  had 
scarcely  uttered  his  most  respectful  salutations,  when  she 
said,  "It  is,  perhaps,  the  last  time  you  will  take  that  path 
through  the  Lock  Meadow,  Dr.  Dill.  We  mean  to  close  it 
up  after  this  week." 

"  Close  it  up,  dear  lady!  —  a  right  of  way  that  has  existed 
Heaven  knows  how  long.     I  remember  it  as  a  boy  myself." 

"Very  probably,  sir,  and  what  you  say  vouches  for  great 
antiquity ;  but  things  may  be  old  and  yet  not  respectable. 
Besides,  it  never  was  what  you  have  called  it,  —  a  right  of 
way.     If  it  was,  where  did  it  go  to?  " 

"It  went  to  the  cottage,  dear  lady.  The  '  Home'  was  a 
mill  in  those  days." 

"Well,  sir,  it  is  no  longer  a  mill,  and  it  will  soon  cease 
to  be  an  inn." 

"Indeed,  dear  lady!  And  am  I  to  hope  that  I  may  con- 
gratulate such  kind  friends  as  you  have  ever  been  to  me  on 
a  change  of  fortune?" 

"Yes,  sir;  we  have  grown  so  poor  that,  to  prevent  utter 
destitution,  we  have  determined  to  keep  a  private  station; 


A   COUNTRY   DOCTOR.  91 

aucl  with  reference  to  that,  may  I  ask  you  when  this  young 
gentleman  could  bear  removal  without  injury?" 

"I  have  not  seen  him  to-day,  dear  lady;  but  judging 
from  the  inflammatory  symptoms  I  remarked  yesterday,  and 
the  great  nervous  depression  —  " 

"I  know  nothing  about  medicine,  sir;  but  if  the  nervous 
depression  be  indicated  by  a  great  appetite  and  a  most 
noisy  disposition,  his  case  must  be  critical." 

"Noise,  dear  lady!  " 

"Yes,  sir;  assisted  by  your  son,  he  sat  over  his  wine  till 
past  midnight,  talking  extremely  loudly,  and  occasionally 
singing.  They  have  now  been  at  breakfast  since  ten  o'clock, 
and  you  will  very  soon  be  able  to  judge  by  your  own  ears 
of  the  well-regulated  pitch  of  the  conversation." 

"My  son,  Miss  Dinah!     Tom  Dill  at  breakfast  here?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  his  name  be  Tom  or  Harry,  sir, 
nor  is  it  to  the  purpose ;  but  he  is  a  red-haired  youth,  with 
a  stoop  in  the  shoulders,  and  a  much- abused  cap." 

Dill  groaned  over  a  portrait  which  to  him  was  a  pho- 
tograph. 

"I  '11  see  to  this,  dear  lady.  This  shall  be  looked  into," 
muttered  he,  with  the  purpose  of  a  man  who  pledged  him- 
self to  a  course  of  action;  and  with  this  he  moved  on.  Nor 
had  he  gone  many  paces  from  the  spot  when  he  heard  the 
sound  of  voices,  at  first  in  some  confusion,  but  afterwards 
clearly  and  distinctly. 

"I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  'd  do  it,  Tom,"  cried  the  loud  voice 
of  Couyers.  "It's  all  very  fine  talking  about  paternal 
authority  and  all  that,  and  so  long  as  one  is  a  boy  there  *8 
no  help  for  it;  but  you  and  I  are  men.  We  have  a  right 
to  be  treated  like  men,  haven't  we?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  muttered  the  other,  half  sulkily,  and  not 
exactly  seeing  what  was  gained  by  the  admission. 

"Well,  that  being  so,"  resumed  Conyers,  "I'd  say  to 
the  governor,  '  What  allowance  are  you  going  to  make 
me?"' 

"Did  you  do  that  with  your  father?"  asked  Tom,  ear- 
nestly. 

"No,  not  exactly,"  stammered  out  the  other.  "There 
was  not,  in  fact,  any  need  for  it,  for  my  governor  is  a  rare 


92  BARRINGTON. 

jolly  fellow,  —  such  a  trump !  What  he  said  to  me  was, 
'  There  's  a  check-book,  George;  don't  spare  it.'  " 

"Which  was  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Draw  what  you  like.'  " 

"Yes,  of  course.  He  knew,  in  leaving  it  to  my  honor, 
there  was  no  risk  of  my  committing  any  excess;  so  you  see 
there  was  no  necessity  to  make  my  governor  '  book  up.' 
But  if  I  was  in  your  place  I  'd  do  it.  I  pledge  you  my  word 
I  would." 

Tom  only  shook  his  head  very  mourufull}',  and  made  no 
answer.  He  felt,  and  felt  trul}',  that  there  is  a  worldly 
wisdom  learned  only  in  poverty  and  in  the  struggles  of 
narrow  fortune,  of  which  the  well-to-do  know  absolutely 
nothing.  Of  what  avail  to  talk  to  him  of  an  unlimited 
credit,  or  a  credit  to  be  bounded  only  by  a  sense  of  honor? 
It  presupposed  so  much  that  was  impossible,  that  he  would 
have  laughed  if  his  heart  had  been  but  light  enough. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Conyers,  "if  you  have  n't  courage  for 
this,  let  me  do  it;  let  me  speak  to  your  father." 

"What  could  you  say  to  him?"  asked  Tom,  doggedly. 

"Say  to  him?  —  what  could  I  say  to  him?  "  repeated  he, 
as  be  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  and  affected  to  be  eagerly  inter- 
ested in  the  process.  "It 's  clear  enough  what  I  'd  say  to 
him." 

"Let  us  hear  it,  then,"  growled  out  Tom,  for  he  had  a 
sort  of  coarse  enjoyment  at  the  other's  embarrassment. 
"I  '11  be  the  doctor  now,  and  listen  to  you."  And  with  this 
he  squared  his  chair  full  in  front  of  Conyers,  and  crossed 
his  arms  imposingly  on  his  chest.  "You  said  you  wanted 
to  speak  to  me  about  my  sou  Tom,  Mr.  Conyers;  what  is 
it  you  have  to  say  ?  " 

"AVell,  I  suppose  I'd  open  the  matter  delicately,  and, 
perhaps,  adroitly.  I  'd  say,  '  I  have  remarked,  doctor,  that 
your  son  is  a  young  fellow  of  very  considerable  abilities  —  '  " 

"For  what?"  broke  in  Tom,  huskily. 

"Come,  you  're  not  to  interrupt  in  this  fashion,  or  I  can't 
continue.  I  'd  say  something  about  your  natural  cleverness ; 
and  what  a  pity  it  would  be  if,  with  very  promising  talents, 
you  should  not  have  those  fair  advantages  which  lead  a  man 
to  success  in  life." 

"And  do  you  know  what  he  V?  say  to  all  that?  " 


A  COUNTRY  DOCTOR.  93 

*'No." 

''Well,  I'll  tell  you.  He'd  say  'Bother!'  Just 
'bother.'" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  '  bother  '  ?  " 

"That  what  you  were  saying  was  all  nonsense.  That  you 
did  n't  know,  nor  you  never  could  know,  the  struggles  of  a 
man  like  himself,  just  to  make  the  two  ends  meet;  not  to 
be  rich,  mind  you,  or  lay  by  money,  or  have  shares  in  this, 
or  stocks  in  that,  but  just  to  live,  and  no  more." 

"Well,  I'd  say,  'Give  him  a  few  hundred  pounds,  and 
start  him.'  " 

"Why  don't  you  say  a  few  thousands?  It  would  sound 
grander,  and  be  just  as  likely.  Can't  you  see  that  every- 
body has  n't  a  Lieutenant-General  for  a  father?  and  that 
what  you  'd  give  for  a  horse  —  that  would,  maybe,  be  staked 
to-morrow  —  would  perhaps  be  a  fortune  for  a  fellow  like 
me?  What 's  that  I  hear  coming  up  the  river?  That 's  the 
doctor,  I  'm  sure.  I  '11  be  off  till  he  's  gone."  And  without 
waiting  to  hear  a  word,  he  sprang  from  his  chair  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  wood. 

Dr.  Dill  only  waited  a  few  seconds  to  compose  his  feat- 
ures, somewhat  excited  by  what  he  had  overheard;  and 
then  coughing  loudly,  to  announce  his  approach,  moved 
gravely  along  the  gravel  path. 

"And  how  is  my  respected  patient?"  asked  he,  blandly. 
"Is  the  inflammation  subsiding,  and  are  our  pains  di- 
minished?" 

"My  ankle  is  easier,  if  you  mean  that,"  said  Conyers, 
bluntly. 

"Yes,  much  easier, — much  easier,"  said  the  doctor,  ex- 
amining the  limb;  "and  our  cellular  tissue  has  less  effusion, 
the  sheaths  of  the  tendons  freei",  and  we  are  generally 
better.  I  perceive  you  have  had  the  leeches  applied.  Did 
Tom  —  my  son  —  give  you  satisfaction?  Was  he  as  atten- 
tive and  as  careful  as  you  wished  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  liked  him.  I  wish  he  'd  come  up  every  day  while 
I  remain.     Is  there  any  objection  to  that  arrangement?" 

"None,  dear  sir,  — none.  His  time  is  fully  at  your  ser- 
vice; he  ought  to  be  working  hard.  It  is  true  he  should  be 
reading  eight  or  ten  hours  a  day,  for  his  examination;  but 


94  BARRIXGTON. 

it  is  bard  to  persuade  him  to  it.  Young  men  will  be  young 
men ! " 

"I  hope  so,  with  all  my  heart.  At  least,  I,  for  one,  don't 
want  to  be  an  old  one.  Will  you  do  me  a  favor,  doctor? 
and  will  you  forgive  me  if  I  don't  know  how  to  ask  it  with 
all  becoming  delicacy?  I'd  like  to  give  Tom  a  helping 
hand.  He 's  a  good  fellow,  —  I  'm  certain  he  is.  Will  you 
let  me  send  him  out  to  India,  to  my  father?  He  has  lots  of 
places  to  give  away,  and  he  'd  be  sure  to  find  something  to 
suit  him.  You  have  heard  of  General  Conyers,  perhaps, 
the  political  resident  at  Delhi?  That 's  my  governor."  lu 
the  hurry  and  rapidity  with  which  he  spoke,  it  was  easy  to 
see  how  he  struggled  with  a  sense  of  shame  and  confusion. 

Dr.  Dill  was  profuse  of  acknowledgments ;  he  was  even 
moved  as  he  expressed  his  gratitude.  "It  was  true,"  he 
remarked,  "that  his  life  had  been  signalled  b}'  these  sort  of 
graceful  services,  or  rather  offers  of  services;  for  we  are 
proud  if  we  are  poor,  sir.  '  Dill  aut  nil '  is  the  legend  of 
our  crest,  which  means  that  we  are  ourselves  or  nothing." 

"I  conclude  everybody  else  is  in  the  same  predicament," 
broke  in  Conyers,  bluutl}'. 

"Not  exactly,  young  gentleman, — not  exactly.  I  think 
I  could,  perhaps,  explain  —  " 

"No,  no;  never  mind  it.  I  'm  the  stupidest  fellow  in  the 
world  at  a  nice  distinction;  besides,  I'll  take  your  word  for 
the  fact.     You  have  heard  of  my  father,  have  n't  3'ou?  " 

"I  heard  of  him  so  late  as  last  night,  from  a  brother 
officer  of  yours.  Captain  Stapylton." 

"Where  did  you  meet  Stapylton? "  asked  Conj-ers, 
quickly. 

"At  Sir  Charles  Cobham's.  I  was  presented  to  him  by 
my  daughter,  and  he  made  the  most  kindly  inquiries  after 
you,  and  said  that,  if  possible,  he  'd  come  over  here  to-day 
to  see  you." 

"I  hope  he  won't;  that's  all,"  muttered  Conyers.  Then, 
correcting  himself  suddenly,  he  said:  "I  mean,  I  scarcely 
know  him ;  he  has  only  joined  us  a  few  months  back,  and 
is  a  stranger  to  every  one  in  the  regiment.  I  hope  you 
did  n't  tell  him  where  I  was." 

"I  'm  afraid  that  I  did,  for  I  remember  his  adding,  '  Oh! 


A  COUNTRY  DOCTOR.  95 

I  must  carry  him  off.  I  must  get  him  back  to  head- 
quarters.' " 

"Indeed!  Let  us  see  if  he  will.  That's  the  style  of 
these  '  Company's  '  officers,  — he  was  in  some  Native  corps 
or  other,  —  they  always  fancy  they  can  bully  a  subaltern ; 
but  Black  Stapylton  will  find  himself  mistaken  this  time." 

"He  was  afraid  that  you  had  not  fallen  into  skilful  hands; 
and,  of  course,  it  would  not  have  come  well  from  me  to 
assure  him  of  the  opposite." 

"Well,  but  what  of  Tom,  doctor?  You  have  given  me  no 
answer." 

"It  is  a  case  for  reflection,  my  dear  young  friend,  if  I 
may  be  emboldened  to  call  you  so.  It  is  not  a  matter  I  can 
say  yes  or  no  to  on  the  instant.  I  have  only  two  grown-up 
children:  my  daughter,  the  most  affectionate,  the  most 
thoughtful  of  girls,  educated,  too,  in  a  way  to  grace  any 
sphere  —  " 

"You  needn't  tell  me  that  Tom  is  a  wild  fellow,"  broke 
in  Conyers, — for  he  well  understood  the  antithesis  that 
was  coming;  "he  owned  it  all  to  me,  himself.  I  have  no 
doubt,  too,  that  he  made  the  worst  of  it;  for,  after  all,  what 
signifies  a  dash  of  extravagance,  or  a  mad  freak  or  two? 
You  can't  expect  that  we  should  all  be  as  wise  and  as  pru- 
dent and  as  cool-headed  as  Black  Stapylton." 

"You  plead  very  ably,  young  gentleman,"  said  Dill,  with 
his  smoothest  accent,  "but  you  must  give  me  a  little  time." 

"Well,  I'll  give  you  till  to-morrow, — to-morrow,  at  this 
hour;  for  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to  the  poor  fellow  to  keep 
him  in  a  state  of  uncertainty.  His  heart  is  set  on  the  plan ; 
he  told  me  so." 

"I'll  do  my  best  to  meet  your  wishes,  my  dear  young 
gentleman;  but  please  to  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  the  whole 
future  fate  of  my  son  I  am  about  to  decide.  Your  father 
may  not,  possibly,  prove  so  deeply  interested  as  you  are ;  he 
mav  —  not  unreasonably,  either  —  take  a  colder  view  of  this 
project;  he  may  chance  to  form  a  lower  estimate  of  my 
poor  boy  than  it  is  your  good  nature  to  have  done." 

"Look  here,  doctor;  I  know  my  governor  something  bet- 
ter than  you  do,  and  if  I  wrote  to  him,  and  said,  *  I  want 
this  fellow  to  come  home  with  a  lac  of  rupees,'  he'd  start 


96  BAKRINGTON. 

him  to-morrow  with  half  the  money.  If  I  were  to  say,  *  You 
are  to  give  him  the  best  thing  in  your  gift,'  there  's  nothino^ 
he  'd  stop  at;  he  'd  make  him  a  judge,  or  a  receiver,  or  some 
one  of  those  fat  things  that  send  a  man  back  to  England 
with  a  fortune.  What 's  that  fellow  whispering  to  you 
about?     It's  something  that  concerns  me," 

This  sudden  interruption  was  caused  by  the  approach  of 
Darby,  who  had  come  to  whisper  something  in  the  doctor's 
•ear. 

"It  is  a  message  he  has  brought  me;  a  matter  of  little 
consequence.  I  '11  look  to  it.  Darby.  Tell  j-our  mistress  it 
shall  be  attended  to."  Darby  lingered  for  a  moment,  but 
the  doctor  motioned  him  away,  and  did  not  speak  again  till 
he  had  quitted  the  spot.  "  How  these  fellows  will  wait  to 
pick  up  what  passes  between  their  betters,"  said  Dill,  while 
he  continued  to  follow  him  with  his  eyes.  "I  think  I  men- 
tioned to  you  once,  already,  that  the  persons  who  keep  this 
house  here  are  reduced  gentry,  and  it  is  now  my  task  to  add 
that,  either  from  some  change  of  fortune  or  from  caprice, 
they  are  thinking  of  abandoning  the  inn,  and  resuming  — 
so  far  as  may^  be  possible  for  them  —  their  former  standing. 
This  project  dates  before  your  arrival  here;  and  now,  it 
■would  seem,  they  are  growing  impatient  to  effect  it;  at 
least,  a  very  fussy  old  lady  —  Miss  Barrington  —  has  sent 
me  word  by  Darby  to  saj'  her  brother  will  be  back  here  to- 
morrow or  next  day,  with  some  friends  from  Kilkenny,  and 
she  asks  at  what  time  your  convalescence  is  likely  to  permit 
removal." 

"  Turned  out,  in  fact,  doctor,  — ordered  to  decamp!  You 
must  say,  I  'm  ready,  of  course;  that  is  to  say,  that  I  '11  go 
at  once.  I  don't  exactly  see  how  I  'm  to  be  moved  in  this 
helpless  state,  as  no  carriage  can  come  here ;  but  you  '11  look 
to  all  that  for  me.  At  all  events,  go  immediately,  and  say 
I  shall  be  off  within  an  hour  or  so." 

"Leave  it  all  to  me,  — leave  it  in  ni}'  hands.  I  think  I 
see  what  is  to  be  done,"  said  the  doctor,  with  one  of  his 
confident  little  smiles,  and  moved  away. 

There  was  a  spice  of  irritation  in  Conyers's  manner  as  he 
spoke.  He  was  very  little  accustomed  to  be  thwarted  in 
anything,    and   scarcely   knew  the   sensation   of   having  a 


A  COUNTRY   DOCTOR.  97 

wish  opposed,  or  an  obstacle  set  against  him,  but  simply 
because  there  was  a  reason  for  his  quitting  the  place,  grew 
all  the  stronger  his  desire  to  remain  there.  He  looked 
around  him,  and  never  before  had  the  foliage  seemed  so 
graceful;  never  had  the  tints  of  the  copper-beech  blended 
so  harmoniously  with  the  stone-pine  and  the  larch;  never 
had  the  eddies  of  the  river  laughed  more  joyously,  nor  the 
blackbirds  sung  with  a  more  impetuous  richness  of  melody. 
"And  to  say  that  I  must  leave  all  this,  just  when  I  feel 
myself  actually  clinging  to  it.  I  could  spend  my  whole  life 
here.  I  glory  in  this  quiet,  unbroken  ease;  this  life,  that 
slips  along  as  waveless  as  the  stream  there!  Why  should  n't 
I  buy  it ;  have  it  all  my  own,  to  come  down  to  whenever  I 
was  sick  and  weary  of  the  world  and  its  dissipations  ?  The 
spot  is  small;  it  couldn't  be  very  costly;  it  would  take  a 
mere  nothing  to  maintain.  And  to  have  it  all  one's  own!  " 
There  was  an  actual  ecstasy  in  the  thought ;  for  in  that  same 
sense  of  possession  there  is  a  something  that  resembles  the 
sense  of  identity.  The  little  child  with  his  toy,  the  aged 
man  with  his  proud  demesne,  are  tasters  of  the  same 
pleasure. 

"You  are  to  use  your  own  discretion,  my  dear  young  gen- 
tleman, and  go  when  it  suits  you,  and  not  before,"  said  the 
doctor,  returning  triumphantly,  for  he  felt  like  a  successful 
envoy.  "And  now  I  will  leave  you.  To-morrow  you  shall 
have  my  answer  about  Tom." 

Conyers  nodded  vaguely;  for,  alas!  Tom,  and  all  about 
him,  had  completely  lapsed  from  his  memory. 

VOL.   I.  —  7 


CHAPTER  X. 

BEING    "  BORED." 

It  is  a  high  testimou}'  to  that  order  of  architecture  which  we 
call  castle-building,  that  no  man  ever  lived  in  a  house  so  fine 
he  could  not  build  one  more  stately  still  out  of  his  imagina- 
tion. Nor  is  it  only  to  grandeur  and  splendor  this  supe- 
riority extends,  but  it  can  invest  lowly  situations  and  homely 
places  with  a  charm  which,  alas !  no  reality  can  rival. 

Couyers  was  a  fortunate  fellow  in  a  number  of  ways  ;  he 
was  young,  good-looking,  healthy,  aud  rich.  Fate  had  made 
place  for  him  on  the  very  sunniest  side  of  the  causeway,  aud, 
with  all  that,  he  was  happier  on  that  day,  through  the  mere 
play  of  his  fancy,  than  all  his  wealth  could  have  made  him. 
He  had  fashioned  out  a  life  for  himself  in  that  cottage,  very 
charming,  and  very  enjoyable  in  its  way.  He  would  make  it 
such  a  spot  that  it  would  have  resources  for  him  on  every 
hand,  aud  he  hugged  himself  in  the  thought  of  coming  down 
here  with  a  friend,  or,  perhaps,  two  friends,  to  pass  days  of 
that  luxurious  indolence  so  fascinating  to  those  who  are,  or 
fancy  they  are,  wearied  of  life's  pomps  and  vanities. 

Now  there  are  no  such  scoffers  at  the  frivolity  aud  empti- 
ness of  human  wishes  as  the  well-to-do  young  fellows  of  two 
or  three-and-twenty.  They  know  the  "  whole  thing,"  and 
its  utter  rottenness.  They  smile  compassionately  at  the 
eagerness  of  all  around  them ;  they  look  with  bland  pity  at 
the  race,  and  contemptuously  ask,  of  what  value  the  prize 
when  it  is  won  ?  They  do  then-  very  best  to  be  gloomy  mor- 
alists, but  they  cannot.  They  might  as  well  try  to  shiver 
when  they  sit  in  the  sunshine.  The  vigorous  beat  of  young 
hearts,  aud  the  full  tide  of  3'oung  pulses,  will  tell  against  all 
the  mock  misanthropy  that  ever  was  fabricated  !  It  would 
not  be  exactly  fair  to  rank  Conyers  in  this  school,  and  yet 


BEING  "BORED."  99 

he  was  not  totally  exempt  from  some  of  its  teachings.  Who 
knows  if  these  little  imaginary  glooms,  these  brain-created 
miseries,  are  not  a  kind  of  moral  "  alterative"  which,  though 
depressing  at  the  instant,  render  the  constitution  only  more 
vigorous  after? 

At  all  events,  he  had  resolved  to  have  the  cottage,  and, 
going  practically  to  work,  he  called  Darby  to  his  counsels  to 
tell  him  the  extent  of  the  place,  its  boundaries,  and  whatever 
information  he  could  afford  as  to  the  tenure  and  its  rent. 

"  You  'd  be  for  buying  it,  your  honor !  "  said  Darby,  with 
the  keen  quick-sightedness  of  his  order. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  some  thoughts  of  the  kind  ;  and,  if  so,  I 
should  keep  you  on." 

Darby  bowed  his  gratitude  very  respectfully.  It  was  too 
long  a  vista  for  him  to  strain  his  eyes  at,  and  so  he  made  no 
profuse  display  of  thankfulness.  With  all  their  imaginative 
tendencies,  the  lower  Irish  are  a  very  bird-in-the-hand  sort 
of  people. 

' '  Not  more  than  seventeen  acres !  "  cried  Conyers,  in 
astonishment.  "Why,  I  should  have  guessed  about  forty, 
at  least.     Is  n't  that  wood  there  part  of  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  it's  only  a  strip,  and  the  trees  that  you  see 
yonder  is  in  Carriclough  ;  and  them  two  meadows  below  the 
salmon  weir  is  n't  ours  at  all ;  and  the  island  itself  we  have 
only  a  lease  of  it." 

"  It's  all  in  capital  repair,  well  kept,  well  looked  after?  " 

"Well,  it  is,  and  isn't!"  said  he,  with  a  look  of  dis- 
agreement. "He'd  have  one  thing,  and  she'd  have  an- 
other ;  he  'd  spend  every  shilling  he  could  get  on  the  place, 
and  she  'd  grudge  a  brush  of  paint,  or  a  coat  of  whitewash, 
just  to  keep  things  together." 

"  I  see  nothing  amiss  here,"  said  Conyers,  looking  around 
him.  "  Nobody  could  ask  or  wish  a  cottage  to  be  neater, 
better  furnished,  or  more  comfortable.  I  confess  I  do  not 
perceive  anything  wanting." 

"Oh,  to  be  sure,  it's  ver}^  nate,  as  your  honor  says; 
but  then  — "  And  he  scratched  his  head,  and  looked 
confused. 

"  But  then,  what  —  out  with  it?" 

"The  earwigs  is   dreadful;  wherever  there's   roses   and 


100  BARRINGTON. 

sweetbrier  there  's  no  livin'  with  them.  Open  the  window 
and  the  place  is  full  of  them." 

Mistaking  the  surprise  he  saw  depicted  in  his  hearer's 
face  for  terror,  Darby  launched  forth  into  a  description  of 
insect  and  reptile  tortures  that  might  have  suited  the  tropics; 
to  hear  him,  all  the  stories  of  the  white  ant  of  India,  or  the 
gallinipper  of  Demerara,  were  nothing  to  the  destructive 
powers  of  the  Irish  earwig.  The  place  was  known  for  them 
all  over  the  country,  and  it  was  years  and  years  lying 
empty,  "by  rayson  of  thim  plagues." 

Now,  if  Conyers  was  not  intimidated  to  the  full  extent 
Darby  intended  by  this  account,  he  was  just  as  far  from 
guessing  the  secret  cause  of  this  representation,  which  was 
simply  a  long-settled  plan  of  succeeding  himself  to  the  own* 
ership  of  the  "Fisherman's  Home,"  when,  either  from  the 
course  of  nature  or  an  accident,  a  vacancy  would  occur.  It 
was  the  grand  dream  of  Darby's  life,  the  island  of  his 
Government,  his  seat  in  the  Cabinet,  his  Judgeship,  his 
Garter,  his  everything,  in  short,  that  makes  human  ambition 
like  a  cup  brimful  and  overflowing;  and  what  a  terrible  re- 
verse would  it  be  if  all  these  hopes  were  to  be  dashed  just 
to  gratify  the  passing  caprice  of  a  mere  traveller! 

"I  don't  suppose  your  honor  cares  for  money,  and, 
maybe,  you  'd  as  soon  pay  twice  over  the  worth  of  anything; 
but  here,  between  our  two  selves,  I  can  tell  you,  you  'd  buy 
an  estate  in  the  county  cheaper  than  this  little  place.  They 
think,  because  they  planted  most  of  the  trees  and  made  the 
fences  themselves,  that  it 's  like  the  King's  Park.  It 's  a 
fancy  spot,  and  a  fancy  price,  they  '11  ask  for  it.  But  I 
know  of  another  worth  ten  of  it,  —  a  real,  elegant  place ;  to 
be  sure,  it's  a  trifle  out  of  repair,  for  the  ould  naygur  that 
has  it  won't  lay  out  a  sixpence,  but  there  's  every  con- 
vaniency  in  life  about  it.  There  's  the  finest  cup  potatoes, 
the  biggest  turnips  ever  I  see  on  it,  and  fish  jumpin'  into 
the  parlor-window,  and  hares  runuin'  about  like  rats." 

"I  don't  care  for  all  that;  this  cottage  and  these  grounds 
here  have  taken  my  fancy." 

"And  why  would  n't  the  other,  when  you  seen  it?  The 
ould  Major  that  lives  there  wants  to  sell  it,  and  you  'd  get  it 
a  raal  bargain.     Let  me  row  your  honor  up  there  this  even- 


BEING   "BORED."  101 

ing.     It's  not  two  miles  off,  and  the  river  beautiful  all  the 
way." 

Conyers  rejected  the  proposal  abruptly,  haughtily.  Darby 
had  dared  to  throw  down  a  very  imposing  card-edifice,  and 
for  the  moment  the  fellow  was  odious  to  him.  All  the 
golden  visions  of  his  early  morning,  that  poetized  life  he 
was  to  lead,  that  elegant  pastoralism,  which  was  to  blend 
the  splendor  of  LucuUus  with  the  simplicity  of  a  Tityrus, 
all  rent,  torn,  and  scattered  by  a  vile  hind,  who  had  not 
even  a  conception  of  the  ruin  he  had  caused. 

And  yet  Darby  had  a  misty  consciousness  of  some  suc- 
cess. He  did  not,  indeed,  know  that  his  shell  had  exploded 
in  a  magazine;  but  he  saw,  from  the  confusion  in  the  garri- 
son, that  his  shot  had  told  severely  somewhere. 

"Maybe  your  honor  would  rather  go  to-morrow?  or  maybe 
you  'd  like  the  Major  to  come  up  here  himself,  and  speak  to 
you?  " 

"Once  for  all,  I  tell  you.  No!  Is  that  plain?  No!  And 
I  may  add,  my  good  fellow,  that  if  you  knew  me  u  little 
better,  you  'd  not  tender  me  any  advice  I  did  not  ask  for." 

"And  why  would  I?     Would  n't  I  be  a  baste  if  I  did?  " 

"I  think  so,"  said  Conyers,  dryly,  and  turned  away.  He 
was  out  of  temper  with  everything  and  everybody, — the 
doctor,  and  his  abject  manner;  Tom,  and  his  roughness; 
Darby,  and  his  roguish  air  of  self-satisfied  craftiness;  all, 
for  the  moment,  displeased  and  offended  him.  "I  '11  leave 
the  place  to-morrow;  I'm  not  sure  I  shall  not  go  to-night. 
D'ye  hear?" 

Darby  bowed  respectfully. 

"I  suppose  I  can  reach  some  spot,  by  boat,  where  a  car- 
riage can  be  had?" 

"By  coorse,  your  honor.  At  Hunt's  Mills,  or  Shibna- 
brack,  you  '11  get  a  car  easy  enough.  I  won't  say  it  will  be 
an  elegant  convaniency,  but  a  good  horse  will  rowl  you 
along  into  Thomastown,  where  you  can  change  for  a  shay." 

Strange  enough,  this  very  facility  of  escape  annoyed  him. 
Had  Darby  only  told  him  that  there  were  all  manner  of  diffi- 
culties to  getting  away,  —  that  there  were  shallows  in  the 
river,  or  a  landslip  across  the  road,  —  he  would  have 
addressed  himself  to  overcome  the  obstacles  like  a  man; 


102  BARRINGTON. 

but  to  hear  that  the  course  was  open,  that  any  one  might 
take  it,  was  intolerable. 

"I  suppose,  your  honor,  I  'd  better  get  the  boat  ready,  at 
all  events?  " 

"Yes,  certainly,  —  that  is,  not  till  I  give  further  orders. 
I  'm  the  only  stranger  here,  and  I  can't  imagine  there  can  be 
much  difliculty  in  having  a  boat  at  any  hour.  Leave  me, 
my  good  fellow;  you  only  worry  me.     Go!  " 

And  Darby  moved  away,  revolving  within  himself  the 
curious  problem,  that  if,  having  plenty  of  money  enlarged  a 
man's  means  of  enjoyment,  it  was  strange  how  little  effect 
it  produced  upon  his  manners.  As  for  Conyers,  he  stood 
moodily  gazing  on  the  river,  over  whose  placid  surface  a 
few  heavy  raindrops  were  just  falling;  great  clouds,  too, 
rolled  heavily  over  the  hillsides,  and  gathered  into 
ominous-looking  masses  over  the  stream,  while  a  low  moan- 
ing sound  of  very  far-off  thunder  foretold  a  storm. 

Here,  at  least,  was  a  good  tangible  grievance,  and  he 
hugged  it  to  his  heart.  He  was  weather-bound !  The  tree- 
tops  were  already  shaking  wildly,  and  dark  scuds  flying 
fast  over  the  mottled  sky.  It  was  clear  that  a  severe  storm 
was  near.  "No  help  for  it  now,"  muttered  he,  "if  I  must 
remain  here  till  to-morrow."  And  hobbling  as  well  as  he 
could  into  the  house,  he  seated  himself  at  the  window  to 
watch  the  hurricane.  Too  closely  pent  up  between  the 
steep  sides  of  the  river  for  anything  like  destructive  power, 
the  wind  only  shook  the  trees  violently,  or  swept  along  the 
stream  with  tiny  waves,  which  warred  against  the  current; 
but  even  these  were  soon  beaten  down  by  the  rain,  —  that 
heavy,  swooping,  splashing  rain,  that  seems  to  come  from 
the  overflowing  of  a  lake  in  the  clouds.  Darker  and  darker 
grew  the  atmosphere  as  it  fell,  till  the  banks  of  the  opposite 
side  were  gradually  lost  to  view,  while  the  river  itself  be- 
came a  yellow  flood,  surging  up  amongst  the  willows  that 
lined  the  banks.  It  was  not  one  of  those  storms  whose 
grand  effects  of  lightning,  aided  by  pealing  thunder,  create 
a  sense  of  sublime  terror,  that  has  its  own  ecstasy ;  but  it 
was  one  of  those  dreary  evenings  when  the  dull  sky  shows 
no  streak  of  light,  and  when  the  moist  earth  gives  up  no 
perfume,  when    foliage  and    hillside  and    rock  and  stream 


BEING  "BORED."  103 

are  leaden-colored  and  sad,  and  one  wishes  for  winter,  to 
close  the  shutter  and  draw  the  curtain,  and  creep  close  to 
the  chimney-corner  as  to  a  refuge. 

Oh,  what  comfortless  things  are  these  summer  storms! 
They  come  upon  us  like  some  dire  disaster  in  a  time  of  fes- 
tivity. They  swoop  down  upon  our  days  of  sunshine  like  a 
pestilence,  and  turn  our  joy  into  gloom,  and  all  our  glad- 
ness to  despondency,  bringing  back  to  our  minds  memories 
of  comfortless  journeys,  weariful  ploddings,  long  nights  of 
suffering. 

I  am  but  telling  what  Conyers  felt  at  this  sudden  change 
of  weather.  You  and  I,  my  good  reader,  know  better.  We 
feel  how  gladly  the  parched  earth  drinks  up  the  refreshing 
draught,  how  the  seared  grass  bends  gratefully  to  the  skim- 
ming rain,  and  the  fresh  buds  open  with  joy  to  catch  the 
pearly  drops.  We  know,  too,  how  the  atmosphere,  long 
imprisoned,  bursts  forth  into  a  joyous  freedom,  and  comes 
back  to  us  fresh  from  the  sea  and  the  mountain  rich  in  odor 
and  redolent  of  health,  making  the  very  air  breathe  an  ex- 
quisite luxury.  We  know  all  this,  and  much  more  that  he 
did  not  care  for. 

Now  Conyers  was  only  "bored,"  as  if  anything  could  be 
much  worse;  that  is  to  say,  he  was  in  that  state  of  mind  in 
which  resources  yield  no  distraction,  and  nothing  is  invested 
with  an  interest  sufficient  to  make  it  even  passingly  amus- 
ing. He  wanted  to  do  something,  though  the  precise  some- 
thing did  not  occur  to  him.  Had  he  been  well,  and  in  full 
enjoyment  of  his  strength,  he  'd  have  sallied  out  into  the 
storm  and  walked  off  his  ennui  by  a  wetting.  Even  a  cold 
would  be  a  good  exchange  for  the  dreary  blue-devilism  of 
his  depression ;  but  this  escape  was  denied  him,  and  he  was 
left  to  fret,  and  chafe,  and  fever  himself,  moving  from  win- 
dow to  chimney-corner,  and  from  chimney-corner  to  sofa, 
till  at  last,  baited  by  self-tormentings,  he  opened  his  door 
and  sallied  forth  to  wander  through  the  rooms,  taking  his 
chance  where  his  steps  might  lead  him. 

Between  the  gloomy  influences  of  the  storm  and  the 
shadows  of  a  declining  day  he  could  mark  but  indistinctly 
the  details  of  the  rooms  he  was  exploring.  They  presented 
little  that  was  remarkable;  they  were  modestly  furnished. 


104  BARRLNGTON. 

nothing  costly  nor  expensive  anywhere,  but  a  degree  of 
homely  comfort  rare  to  find  in  an  inn.  They  had,  above 
all,  that  habitable  look  which  so  seldom  pertains  to  a  house 
of  entertainment,  and,  in  the  loosely  scattered  books, 
prints,  and  maps  showed  a  sort  of  flattering  trustfulness 
in  the  stranger  who  might  sojourn  there.  His  wanderings 
led  him,  at  length,  into  a  somewhat  more  pretentious  room, 
with  a  piano  and  a  harp,  at  one  angle  of  which  a  little 
octangular  tower  opened,  with  windows  in  every  face,  and 
the  spaces  between  them  completely  covered  by  miniatures 
in  oil,  or  small  cabinet  pictures.  A  small  table  with  a 
chess-board  stood  here,  and  an  unfinished  game  yet  remained 
on  the  board.  As  Conyers  bent  over  to  look,  he  perceived 
that  a  book,  whose  leaves  were  held  open  by  a  smelling- 
bottle,  lay  on  the  chair  next  the  table.  He  took  this  up, 
and  saw  that  it  was  a  little  volume  treating  of  the  game, 
and  that  the  pieces  on  the  board  represented  a  problem. 
With  the  eagerness  of  a  man  thirsting  for  some  occupation, 
he  seated  himself  at  the  table,  and  set  to  work  at  the  ques- 
tion. "A  Mate  in  Six  Moves  "  it  was  headed,  but  the  pieces 
had  been  already  disturbed  by  some  one  attempting  the  solu- 
tion. He  replaced  them  by  the  directions  of  the  volume, 
and  devoted  himself  earnestly  to  the  task.  He  was  not  a 
good  player,  and  the  problem  posed  him.  He  tried  it  again 
and  again,  but  ever  unsuccessfully.  He  fancied  that  up  to 
a  certain  point  he  had  followed  the  right  track,  and  repeated 
the  same  opening  moves  each  time.  Meanwhile  the  evening 
was  fast  closing  in,  and  it  was  only  with  difficulty  he  could 
see  the  pieces  on  the  board. 

Bending  low  over  the  table,  he  was  straining  his  eyes  at 
the  game,  when  a  low,  gentle  voice  from  behind  his  chair 
said,  "Would  you  not  wish  candles,  sir?  It  is  too  dark  to 
see  here." 

Conyers  turned  hastily,  and  as  hastily  recognized  that  the 
person  who  addressed  him  was  a  gentlewoman.  He  arose 
at  once,  and  made  a  sort  of  apology  for  his  intruding. 

"Had  I  known  you  were  a  chess-player,  sir,"  said  she, 
with  the  demure  gravity  of  a  composed  manner,  "  I  believe 
I  should  have  sent  you  a  challenge;  for  my  brother,  who 
is  my  usual  adversary,  is  from  home." 


BEING  "BORED.' 


105 


"If  I  should  prove  a  very  unworthy  enemy,  madam,  you 
will  find  me  a  very  grateful  one,  for  I  am  sorely  tired  of  my 
own  company." 

"In  that  case,  sir,  I  beg  to  offer  you  mine,  and  a  cup  of 
tea  along  with  it." 


Conyers  accepted  the  invitation  joyfully,  and  followed 
Miss  Barrington  to  a  small  but  most  comfortable  little  room, 
where  a  tea  equipage  of  exquisite  old  china  was  already 
prepared. 

"I  see  you  are  in  admiration  of  my  teacups;  they  are  the 
rare  Canton  blue,  for  we  tea-drinkers  have  as  much  epicurism 
in  the  form  and   color  of  a  cup  as  wine-bibbers  profess  to 


106  BAKRLNGTON. 

have  in  a  bock  or  a  claret  glass.  Pray  take  the  sofa ;  you 
will  find  it  more  comfortable  than  a  chair.  I  am  aware  you 
have  had  an  accident." 

Very  few  and  simple  as  were  her  words,  she  threw  into 
her  manner  a  degree  of  courtesy  that  seemed  actual  kind- 
ness; and  coming,  as  this  did,  after  his  late  solitude  and 
gloom,  no  wonder  was  it  that  Couyers  was  charmed  with 
it.  There  was,  besides,  a  quaint  formality — a  sort  of 
old-world  politeness  in  her  breeding  —  which  relieved  the 
interview  of  awkwardness  by  taking  it  out  of  the  common 
category  of  such  events. 

When  tea  was  over,  they  sat  down  to  chess,  at  which  Con- 
yers  had  merely  proficiency  enough  to  be  worth  beating. 
Perhaps  the  quality  stood  him  in  good  stead;  perhaps  cer- 
tain others,  such  as  his  good  looks  and  his  pleasing  man- 
ners, were  even  better  aids  to  him ;  but  certain  it  is,  Miss 
Barrington  liked  her  guest,  and  when,  on  arising  to  say 
good-night,  he  made  a  bungling  attempt  to  apologize  for 
having  prolonged  his  stay  at  the  cottage  beyond  the  period 
which  suited  their  plans,  she  stopped  him  by  saying,  with 
much  courtesy,  "  It  is  true,  sir,  we  are  about  to  relinquish 
the  inn,  but  pray  do  not  deprive  us  of  the  great  pleasure  we 
should  feel  in  associating  its  last  day  or  two  with  a  most 
agreeable  guest.  I  hope  you  will  remain  till  my  brother 
comes  back  and  makes  your  acquaintance." 

Conyers  very  cordially  accepted  the  proposal,  and  went 
off  to  his  bed  far  better  pleased  with  himself  and  with  all 
the  world  than  he  well  believed  it  possible  he  could  be  a 
couple  of  hours  before. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A    NOTE    TO    BE    ANSWERED. 

While  Conyers  was  yet  iu  bed  the  following  morning,  a 
messenger  arrived  at  the  house  with  a  note  for  him,  and 
waited  for  the  answer.  It  was  from  Stapylton,  and  ran 
thus : — 

"  CoBHAM  Hall,  Tuesday  morning. 

"  Dear  Cox.,  —  The  world  here  —  and  part  of  it  is  a  very  pretty 
world,  with  silky  tresses  and  trim  ankles  —  has  declared  that  you 
have  had  some  sort  of  sHght  accident,  and  are  laid  up  at  a  miserable 
wayside  inn,  to  be  blue-devilled  and  doctored  a  discretion.  I  strained 
my  shoulder  yesterday  hunting,  —  my  horse  swerved  against  a  tree, 
—  or  I  should  ascertain  aU  the  particulars  of  your  disaster  in  per- 
son ;  so  there  is  nothing  left  for  it  but  a  note. 

"  I  am  here  domesticated  at  a  charming  country-house,  the  host 
an  old  Admiral,  the  hostess  a  ci-devant  belle  of  London,  —  in  times 
not  very  recent,  —  and  more  lately  what  is  called  in  newspapers 
'one  of  the  ornaments  of  the  Irish  Court.'  We  have  abundance  of 
guests, — county  dons  and  native  celebrities,  clerical,  lyrical,  and 
quizzical,  several  pretty  women,  a  first-rate  cellar,  and  a  very  toler- 
able cook.  I  give  you  the  catalogue  of  our  attractions,  for  I  am 
commissioned  by  Sir  Charles  and  my  Lady  to  ask  you  to  partake  of 
them.  The  invitation  is  given  in  all  cordiality,  and  I  hope  you  will 
not  decline  it,  for  it  is,  amongst  other  matters,  a  good  opportunity 
of  seeing  an  Irish  '  interior,'  a  thing  of  which  I  have  always  had  my 
doubts  and  misgivings,  some  of  which  are  now  solved ;  others  I 
should  like  to  investigate  with  your  assistance.  In  a  word,  the 
whole  is  worth  seeing,  and  it  is,  besides,  one  of  those  experiences 
which  can  be  had  on  very  pleasant  terms.  There  is  perfect  liberty ; 
always  something  going  on,  and  always  a  way  to  be  out  of  it  if  you 
like.  The  people  are,  perhaps,  not  more  friendly  than  in  England, 
but  they  are  far  more  familiar;  and  if  not  more  disposed  to  be 
pleased,  they  tell  you  they  are,  which  amounts  to  the  same.  Thei-e 
is  a  good  deal  of  splendor,  a  wide  hospitahty,  and,  I  need  scarcely 
add,  a  considerable  share  of  bad  taste.     There  is,  too,  a  costly  atten- 


108  BARRINGTON. 

tion  to  the  wishes  of  a  guest,  wliich  will  remind  you  of  India,  though 
I  must  own  the  Irish  Brahmin  has  not  the  grand,  high-bred  air  of 
the  Bengalee.     But  again  1  say,  come  and  see. 

"  I  have  been  told  (o  e.\ plain  to  you  why  they  don't  send  their 
boat.  There  is  something  about  draught  of  water,  and  something 
about  a  '  gash,'  whatever  that  is  :  I  oj)ine  it  to  be  a  ra])id.  And 
then  I  am  directed  to  say,  that  if  you  will  have  yourself  paddled  up 
to  Brown's  Barn,  the  Cobham  barge  will  be  there  to  meet  you. 

"  I  write  this  with  some  dillieulty,  lying  on  my  back  on  a  sofa, 
while  a  very  pretty  girl  is  impatiently  waiting  to  continue  her  read- 
ing to  me  of  a  new  novel  called  '  The  Antiquary,'  a  capital  story, 
but  strangely  disfigured  by  whole  scenes  in  a  Scottish  dialect.  You 
must  read  it  when  you  come  over. 

"  You  have  heard  of  Hunter,  of  course.  I  am  sure  you  will  be 
sorry  at  his  leaving  us.  For  myself,  I  knew  him  very  slightly,  and 
shall  not  have  to  regret  him  like  older  friends  ;  not  to  say  that  I 
have  been  so  long  in  the  service  that  I  never  believe  in  a  Colonel. 
Would  you  go  with  him  if  he  gave  you  the  offer?  There  is  such  a 
row  and  uproar  all  around  me,  that  I  must  leave  off.  Have  1  for- 
gotten to  say  that  if  you  stand  upon  the  '  dignities,'  the  Admiral 
will  go  in  person  to  invite  you,  though  he  has  a  foot  in  the  gout.  I 
conclude  you  will  not  exact  this,  and  I  knoiv  they  will  take  your 
acceptance  of  this  mode  of  invitation  as  a  great  favor.  Say  the 
hour  and  the  day,  and  believe  me  yours  always, 

"  Horace  Stapylton. 

"  Sir  Charles  is  come  to  say  that  if  your  accident  does  not  inter- 
fere with  riding,  he  hopes  you  will  send  for  your  horses.  He  has 
ample  stabling,  and  is  vainglorious  about  his  beans.  That  short- 
legged  chestnut  you  brought  from  Norris  would  cut  a  good  figure 
here,  as  the  fences  lie  very  close,  and  you  must  be  always  '  in  hand.' 
If  you  saw  how  the  women  ride  !  There  is  one  here  now  —  a  '  half- 
bred  'un  '  —  that  pounded  us  all  —  a  whole  field  of  us  —  last  Satur- 
day. You  shall  see  her.  1  won't  promise  you  '11  follow  her  across 
her  country." 

The  first  impression  made  on  the  mind  of  Conyers  by  this 
letter  was  surprise  that  Stapylton,  with  whom  he  had  so 
little  acquaintance,  should  write  to  him  in  this  tone  of  inti- 
macy; Stapylton,  whose  cold,  almost  stern  manner  seemed 
to  repel  any  approach,  and  now  he  assumed  all  the  free-and- 
easy  air  of  a  comrade  of  his  own  years  and  standing.  Had 
he  mistaken  the  man,  or  had  he  been  misled  b}'  inferring 
from  his  bearing  in  the  regiment  what  he  must  be  at  heart? 


A  NOTE   TO  BE   ANSWERED.  109 

This,  however,  "was  but  a  passing  thought;  the  passage 
which  interested  him  most  of  all  was  about  Hunter.  Where 
and  for  what  could  he  have  left,  then?  It  was  a  regiment 
he  had  served  in  since  he  entered  the  army.  What  could 
have  led  him  to  exchange?  and  why,  when  he  did  so,  had 
he  not  written  him  one  line  —  even  one  —  to  say  as  much? 
It  was  to  serve  under  Hunter,  his  father's  old  aide-de-camp 
in  times  back,  that  he  had  entered  that  regiment;  to  be  with 
him,  to  have  his  friendship,  his  counsels,  his  guidance. 
Colonel  Hunter  had  treated  him  like  a  son  in  every  respect, 
and  Conyers  felt  in  his  heart  that  this  same  affection  and 
interest  it  was  which  formed  his  strongest  tie  to  the  service. 
The  question,  "Would  you  go  with  him  if  he  gave  you  the 
offer?  "  was  like  a  reflection  on  him,  while  no  such  option 
had  been  extended  to  him.  What  more  natural,  after  all, 
than  such  an  offer?  so  Stapylton  thought,  —  so  all  the  world 
would  think.  How  he  thought  over  the  constantly  recurring 
questions  of  his  brother-otlicers :  "Why  didn't  you  go  with 
Hunter?  "  "How  came  it  that  Hunter  did  not  name  you  on 
his  staff?"  "Was  it  fair  —  was  it  generous  in  one  who 
owed  all  his  advancement  to  his  father  —  to  treat  him  in  this 
fashion?"  "Were  the  ties  of  old  friendship  so  lax  as  all 
this?"  "Was  distance  such  an  enemy  to  every  obligation 
of  affection  ?  "  "  Would  his  father  believe  that  such  a  slight 
had  been  passed  upon  him  undeservedly?  Would  not  the 
ready  inference  be,  '  Hunter  knew  you  to  be  incapable,  — 
unequal  to  the  duties  he  required.  Hunter  must  have  his 
reasons  for  passing  you  over '  ? "  and  such  like.  These 
reflections,  very  bitter  in  their  way,  were  broken  in  upon  by 
a  request  from  Miss  Barrington  for  his  company  at  break- 
fast. Strange  enough,  he  had  half  forgotten  that  there  was 
such  a  person  in  the  world,  or  that  he  had  spent  the  preced- 
ing evening  very  pleasantly  in  her  society. 

"1  hope  you  have  had  a  pleasant  letter,"  said  she,  as  he 
entered,  with  Stapylton's  note  still  in  his  hand. 

"I  can  scarcely  call  it  so,  for  it  brings  me  news  that  our 
Colonel  —  a  very  dear  and  kind  friend  to  me  —  is  about  to 
leave  us." 

"Are  these  not  the  usual  chances  of  a  soldier's  life?  I 
used  to  be  very  familiar  once  on  a  time  with  such  topics." 


110  BARRINGTON. 

"I  have  learned  the  tidings  so  vaguely,  too,  that  I  can 
make  nothing  of  them.  My  correspondent  is  a  mere  ac- 
quaintance, —  a  brother  officer,  who  has  lately  joined  us,  and 
cannot  feel  how  deeply  his  news  has  affected  me;  in  fact, 
the  chief  burden  of  his  letter  is  to  convey  an  invitation  to 
me,  and  he  is  full  of  country-house  people  and  pleasures. 
He  writes  from  a  place  called  Cobham." 

"Sir  Charles  Cobham's.  One  of  the  best  houses  in  the 
county." 

"Do  you  know  them?"  asked  Conyers,  who  did  not,  till 
the  words  were  out,  remember  how  awkward  they  might 
prove. 

She  flushed  slightly  for  a  moment,  but,  speedily  recover- 
ing herself,  said:  "Yes,  we  knew  them  once.  They  had  just 
come  to  the  country,  and  purchased  that  estate,  when  our 
misfortunes  overtook  us.  They  showed  us  much  attention, 
and  such  kindness  as  strangers  could  show,  and  they  evinced 
a  disposition  to  continue  it;  but,  of  course,  our  relative 
positions  made  intercourse  impossible.  I  am  afraid,"  said 
she,  hastily,  "I  am  talking  in  riddles  all  this  time.  I  ought 
to  have  told  you  that  my  brother  once  owned  a  good  estate 
here.  We  Barringtons  thought  a  deal  of  ourselves  in  those 
days."  She  tried  to  say  these  words  with  a  playful  levity, 
but  her  voice  shook,  and  her  lip  trembled  in  spite  of  her. 

Conyers  muttered  something  unintelligible  about  "hi& 
having  heard  before,"  and  his  sorrow  to  have  awakened  a 
painful  theme;  but  she  stopped  him  hastily,  saying,  "These 
are  all  such  old  stories  now,  one  should  be  able  to  talk  them 
over  unconcernedly;  indeed,  it  is  easier  to  do  so  than  to 
avoid  the  subject  altogether,  for  there  is  no  such  egotist  as 
your  reduced  gentleman."  She  made  a  pretext  of  giving 
him  his  tea,  and  helping  him  to  something,  to  cover  the 
awkward  pause  that  followed,  and  then  asked  if  he  intended 
to  accept  the  invitation  to  Cobham. 

"Not  if  you  will  allow  me  to  remain  here.  The  doctor 
says  three  days  more  will  see  me  able  to  go  back  to  my 
quarters." 

"I  hope  you  will  stay  for  a  week,  at  least,  for  I  scarcely 
expect  my  brother  before  Saturday.  Meanwhile,  if  you 
have  any  fancy  to  visit  Cobham,  and  make  your  acquaint- 


A  NOTE   TO   BE   ANSWERED.  Ill 

ance  with  the  family  there,  remember  you  have  all  the  privi- 
leges of  an  inn  here,  to  come  and  go,  and  stay  at  your 
pleasure." 

"I  do  not  want  to  leave  this.  I  wish  I  was  never  to  leave 
it,"  muttered  he  below  his  breath. 

"Perhaps  I  guess  what  it  is  that  attaches  you  to  this 
place,"  said  she,  gently.  "Shall  I  say  it?  There  is 
something  quiet,  something  domestic  here,  that  recalls 
'  Home.'  " 

"But  I  never  knew  a  home,"  said  Couyers,  falteringly. 
"My  mother  died  when  1  was  a  mere  infant,  and  I  knew 
none  of  that  watchful  love  that  first  gives  the  sense  of  home. 
You  may  be  right,  however,  in  supposing  that  I  cling  to  this 
spot  as  what  should  seem  to  me  like  a  home,  for  I  own  to 
you  I  feel  very  happy  here." 

"Stay  then,  and  be  happy,"  said  she,  holding  out  her 
hand,  which  he  clasped  warmly,  and  then  pressed  to  his 
lips. 

"Tell  your  friend  to  come  over  and  dine  with  you  any  day 
that  he  can  tear  himself  from  gay  company  and  a  great 
house,  and  I  will  do  my  best  to  entertain  him  suitably." 

"No.  I  don't  care  to  do  that;  he  is  a  mere  acquaintance; 
there  is  no  friendship  between  us,  and,  as  he  is  several  years 
older  than  me,  and  far  wiser,  and  more  man  of  the  world, 
I  am  more  chilled  than  cheered  by  his  company.  But  you 
shall  read  his  letter,  and  I'm  certain  you  '11  make  a  better 
guess  at  his  nature  than  if  I  were  to  give  you  my  own  ver- 
sion of  him  at  any  length."  So  saying,  he  handed  Stapyl- 
ton's  note  across  the  table;  and  Miss  Dinah,  having  delib- 
erately put  on  her  spectacles,  began  to  read  it. 

"It 's  a  fine  manly  hand,  — very  bold  and  very  legible,  and 
says  something  for  the  writer's  frankness.  Eh?  '  a  miser- 
able wayside  inn ! '  This  is  less  than  just  to  the  poor  '  Fish- 
erman's Home.'  Positively,  you  must  make  him  come  to 
dinner,  if  it  be  only  for  the  sake  of  our  character.  This 
man  is  not  amiable,  sir,"  said  she,  as  she  read  on,  "though 
I  could  swear  he  is  pleasant  company,  and  sometimes  witty. 
But  there  is  little  of  genial  in  his  pleasantry,  and  less  of 
good  nature  in  his  wit." 

"Go  on,"  cried  Conyers;  "I  'm  quite  with  you." 


112  BARRINGTON. 

"Is  he  a  person  of  family?"  asked  she,  as  she  read  on 
some  few  lines  further. 

"We  kuow  nothing  about  him;  he  joined  us  from  a  native 
corps,  in  India;  but  he  has  a  good  name  and,  apparently, 
ample  means.  His  appearance  and  manner  are  equal  to  any 
station." 

"For  all  that,  I  don't  like  him,  nor  do  I  desire  that  you 
should  like  him.  There  is  no  wiser  caution  than  that  of  the 
Psalmist  against  '  sitting  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful.'  This 
man  is  a  scoffer." 

"And  yet  it  is  not  his  usual  tone.  He  is  cold,  retiring, 
almost  shy.  This  letter  is  not  a  bit  like  anything  I  ever  saw 
in  his  chai'acter." 

"Another  reason  to  distrust  him.  Set  my  mind  at  ease 
by  saying  '  No '  to  his  invitation,  and  let  me  try  if  I  cannot 
recompense  you  by  homeliness  in  lieu  of  splendor.  The 
young  lady,"  added  she,  as  she  folded  the  letter,  "whose 
horsemanship  is  commemorated  at  the  expense  of  her  breed- 
ing, must  be  our  doctor's  daughter.  She  is  a  very  pretty 
girl,  and  rides  admirably.  Her  good  looks  and  her  courage 
might  have  saved  her  the  sarcasm.  I  have  my  doubts  if  the 
man  that  uttered  it  be  thorough-bred." 

"Well,  I'll  go  and  write  my  answer,"  said  Conyers,  ris- 
ing. "I  have  been  keeping  his  messenger  waiting  all  this 
time.     I  will  show  it  to  you  before  I  send  it  off." 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE    ANSWER. 


*' "Will  this  do?"  said  Conyevs,  shortly  after,  entering  the 
room  with  a  very  brief  note,  but  which,  let  it  be  owned,  cost 
him  fully  as  much  labor  as  more  practised  hands  occasionally 
bestow  on  a  more  length}'  despatch.  "I  suppose  it's  all 
that 's  civil  and  proper,  and  I  don't  care  to  make  any  need- 
less professions.  Pray  read  it,  and  give  me  your  opinion." 
It  was  so  brief  that  I  may  quote  it :  — 

"  Dear  Captaix  Stapylton,  —  Don't  feel  any  apprehensions 
about  me.  I  am  in  better  quarters  than  I  ever  fell  into  in  my  life, 
and  my  accident  is  not  worth  speaking  of.  I  wish  you  had  told  me 
more  of  our  Colonel,  of  whose  movements  I  am  entirely  ignorant. 
I  am  sincerely  grateful  to  your  friends  for  thinking  of  me,  and  hope, 
ere  I  leave  the  neighborhood,  to  express  to  Sir  Charles  and  Lady 
Cobham  how  sensible  I  am  of  their  kind  intentions  towards  me. 
"  I  am,  most  faithfully  yours, 

"  F.  COXYERS." 

"It  is  very  well,  and  tolerably  legible,"  said  Miss  Bar- 
rington,  dryly ;  "at  least  I  can  make  out  everything  but  the 
Kiame  at  the  end." 

"  I  own  I  do  not  shine  in  penmanship ;  the  strange  char- 
acters at  the  foot  were  meant  to  represent  '  Conyers.'  " 

' '  Conyers !  Conyers !  How  long  is  it  since  I  heard  that 
name  last,  and  how  familiar  I  was  with  it  once !  My 
nephew's  dearest  friend  was  a  Conyers." 

"  He  must  have  been  a  relative  of  mine  in  some  degree; 
at  least,  we  are  in  the  habit  of  saying  that  all  of  the  name 
are  of  one  family." 

Not  heeding  what  he  said,  the  old  lady  had  fallen  back  in 
her  meditations  to  a  very  remote  "  long  ago,"  and  was  think- 

VOL.   1.  —  8 


114  BARKINGTON. 

iug  of  a  time  when  every  letter  from  India  bore  the  high- 
wrought  interest  of  a  romance,  of  which  her  nephew  was  the 
hero, — times  of  intense  anxiet}^,  indeed,  but  full  of  hope 
withal,  and  glowing  with  all  the  coloring  with  which  love 
and  an  exalted  imagination  can  invest  the  incidents  of  an 
adventurous  life. 

"It  was  a  great  heart  he  had,  a  splendidly  generous 
nature,  far  too  high-souled  and  too  exacting  for  common 
friendships,  and  so  it  was  that  he  had  few  friends.  I  am 
talking  of  my  nephew,"  said  she,  correcting  herself  sud- 
denly. "What  a  boon  for  a  young  man  to  have  met  him, 
and  formed  an  attachment  to  him.  I  wish  you  could  have 
known  him.  George  would  have  been  a  noble  example  for 
you  !  "  She  paused  for  some  minutes,  and  then  suddenly,  as 
it  were  remembering  herself,  said,  "  Did  you  tell  me  just 
now,  or  was  I  only  dreaming,  that  you  knew  Ormsby 
Conyers  ?  " 

"  Ormsby  Conyers  is  my  father's  name,"  said  he,  quickly. 

"  Captain  in  the  25th  Dragoons?"  asked  she,  eagerly. 

*'  He  was  so,  some  eighteen  or  twenty  years  ago." 

"  Oh,  then,  my  heart  did  not  deceive  me,"  cried  she, 
taking  his  hand  with  both  her  own,  "  when  I  felt  towards 
you  like  an  old  friend.  After  we  parted  last  night,  I  asked 
myself,  again  and  again,  how  was  it  that  I  already  felt  an 
interest  in  you?  What  subtle  instinct  was  it  that  whispered 
this  is  the  son  of  poor  George's  dearest  friend,  —  this  is  the 
son  of  that  dear  Ormsby  Conyers  of  whom  every  letter  is 
full?  Oh,  the  happiness  of  seeing  you  under  this  roof! 
And  what  a  surprise  for  my  poor  brother,  who  clings  only 
the  closer,  with  every  year,  to  all  that  reminds  him  of  his 
boy !  " 

"And  you  knew  my  father,  then?"  asked  Conyers, 
proudly. 

"  Never  met  him;  but  I  believe  I  knew  him  better  than 
many  who  were  his  daily  intimates :  for  years  my  nephew's 
letters  were  journals  of  their  joint  lives  —  they  seemed  never 
separate.  But  you  shall  read  them  yourself.  They  go  back 
to  the  time  when  they  both  landed  at  Calcutta,  young  and 
ardent  spirits,  eager  for  adventure,  and  urged  by  a  bold 
ambition   to   win   distinction.      From   that   day   they   were 


THE   ANSWER.  115 

Inseparable.  They  hunted,  travelled,  lived  together ;  and  so 
attached  had  they  become  to  each  other,  that  George  writes 
in  one  letter :  '  They  have  offered  me  an  appointment  on  the 
staff,  but  as  this  vfould  separate  me  from  Ormsby,  it  is  not 
to  be  thought  of.'  It  was  to  me  George  always  wrote,  for 
my  brother  never  liked  letter-writing,  and  thus  I  was  my 
nephew's  confidante,  and  intrusted  with  all  his  secrets.  Nor 
was  there  one  in  which  your  father's  name  did  not  figure. 
It  was,  how  Ormsby  got  him  out  of  this  scrape,  or  took  his 
duty  for  him,  or  made  this  explanation,  or  raised  that  sum 
of  money,  that  filled  all  these.  At  last  —  I  never  knew  why 
or  how  —  George  ceased  to  write  to  me,  and  addressed  all 
his  letters  to  his  father,  marked  '  Strictly  private '  too,  so 
that  I  never  saw  what  they  contained.  My  brother,  I 
believe,  suffered  deeply  from  the  concealment,  and  there 
must  have  been  what  to  him  seemed  a  sufficient  reason  for  it, 
or  he  would  never  have  excluded  me  from  that  share  in  his 
confidence  I  had  always  possessed.  At  all  events,  it  led  to 
a  sort  of  estrangement  between  us,  —  the  only  one  of  our 
lives.  He  would  tell  me  at  intervals  that  George  was  on 
leave  ;  George  was  at  the  Hills  ;  he  was  expecting  his  troop ; 
he  had  been  sent  here  or  there ;  but  nothing  more,  till  one 
morning,  as  if  unable  to  bear  the  burden  longer,  he  said, 
'  George  has  made  up  bis  mind  to  leave  his  regiment  and 
take  service  with  one  of  the  native  princes.  It  is  an 
arrangement  sanctioned  by  the  Government,  but  it  is  one  I 
grieve  over  and  regret  greatly.'  I  asked  eagerly  to  hear 
further  about  this  step,  but  he  said  he  knew  nothing  beyond 
the  bare  fact.  I  then  said,  '  What  does  his  friend  Conyers 
think  of  it?'  and  my  brother  dryly  replied,  'I  am  not  aware 
that  he  has  been  consulted.'  Our  own  misfortunes  were  fast 
closing  around  us,  so  that  really  we  had  little  time  to  think 
of  anything  but  the  difficulties  that  each  day  brought  forth. 
George's  letters  grew  rarer  and  rarer;  rumors  of  him 
reached  us ;  stories  of  his  gorgeous  mode  of  living,  his 
princely  state  and  splendid  retinue,  of  the  high  favor  he 
enjoyed  with  the  Rajah,  and  the  influence  he  wielded  over 
neighboring  chiefs ;  and  then  we  heard,  still  only  by  rumor, 
that  he  had  married  a  native  princess,  who  had  some  time 
before  been  converted  to  Christianity.     The  first  intimation 


116  BARRINGTON. 

of  the  fact  from  himself  came,  when,  announcing  that  he 
had  sent  his  daughter,  a  child  of  about  five  years  old,  to 
Europe  to  be  educated  — -"  She  paused  here,  and  seemed  to 
have  fallen  into  a  revery  over  the  past ;  when  Conyers  sud- 
denly asked, — 

"And  what  of  mj  father  all  this  time?  "Was  the  old 
intercourse  kept  up  between  them  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.  I  do  not  remember  that  his  name 
occurred  till  the  memorable  case  came  on  before  the  House 
of  Commons  —  the  inquiry,  as  it  was  called,  into  Colonel 
Barrington's  conduct  in  the  case  of  Edwardes,  a  British-born 
subject  of  his  Majesty,  serving  in  the  army  of  the  Eajah  of 
Luckerabad.     You  have,  perhaps,  heard  of  it?" 

"  Was  that  the  celebrated  charge  of  torturing  a  British 
subject?" 

' '  The  same ;  the  vilest  conspiracy'  that  ever  was  hatched, 
and  the  cruellest  persecution  that  ever  broke  a  noble  heart. 
And  yet  there  were  men  of  honor,  men  of  purest  fame  and 
most  unblemished  character,  who  barkened  in  to  that  infa- 
mous cry,  and  actuall}'  sent  out  emissaries  to  India  to  collect 
evidence  against  my  poor  nephew.  For  a  while  the  whole 
country  rang  with  the  case.  The  low  papers,  which  assailed 
the  Government,  made  it  matter  of  attack  on  the  nature  of 
the  British  rule  in  India,  and  the  ministry  only  sought  to 
make  George  the  victim  to  screen  themselves  from  public 
indignation.  It  was  Admiral  Byng's  case  once  more.  But 
I  have  no  temper  to  speak  of  it,  even  after  this  lapse  of 
years ;  my  blood  boils  now  at  the  bare  memory  of  that  foul 
and  perjured  association.  If  you  would  follow  the  story,  I 
will  send  you  the  little  published  narrative  to  your  room,  but, 
I  beseech  you,  do  not  again  revert  to  it.  How  I  have 
betra3'ed  myself  to  speak  of  it  I  know  not.  For  many  a  long 
year  I  have  prayed  to  be  able  to  forgive  one  man,  who  has 
been  the  bitterest  enemy  of  our  name  and  race.  I  have 
asked  for  strength  to  bear  the  burden  of  our  calamity,  but 
more  earnestly  a  hundred-fold  I  have  entreated  that  forgive- 
ness might  enter  my  heart,  and  that  if  vengeance  for  this 
cruel  wrong  was  at  hand,  I  could  be  able  to  say,  '  No,  the 
time  for  such  feeling  is  gone  by.'  Let  me  not,  then,  be 
tempted  by  any  revival  of  this  theme  to  recall  all  the  sorrow 


THE  ANSWER.  117 

and  all  the  indignation  it  once  caused  me.  This  infamous 
book  contains  the  whole  story  as  the  world  then  believed  it. 
You  will  read  it  with  interest,  for  it  concerned  one  whom 
your  father  dearly  loved.  But,  again  I  say,  when  we  meet 
again  let  us  not  return  to  it.  These  letters,  too,  will  amuse 
you  ;  they  are  the  diaries  of  your  father's  early  life  in  India 
as  much  as  George's,  but  of  them  we  can  talk  freely." 

It  was  so  evident  that  she  was  speaking  with  a  forced 
calm,  and  that  all  her  self-restraint  might  at  any  moment 
prove  unequal  to  the  effort  she  was  making,  that  Couyers, 
affecting  to  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  Stapyltou's  messen- 
ger, stole  away,  and  hastened  to  his  room  to  look  over  the 
letters  and  the  volume  she  had  given  him. 

He  had  scarcely  addressed  himself  to  his  task  when  a 
knock  came  to  the  door,  and  at  the  same  instant  it  was 
opened  in  a  slow,  half-hesitating  way,  and  Tom  Dill  stood 
before  him.  Though  evidently  dressed  for  the  occasion,  and 
intending  to  present  himself  in  a  most  favorable  guise,  Tom 
looked  far  more  vulgar  and  unprepossessing  than  in  the 
worn  costume  of  his  every-day  life,  his  bright-buttoned  blue 
coat  and  yellow  waistcoat  being  only  aggravations  of  the 
low-bred  air  that  unhappily  beset  him.  Worse  even  than 
this,  however,  was  the  fact  that,  being  somewhat  nervous 
about  the  interview  before  him,  Tom  had  taken  what  his 
father  would  have  called  a  diffusible  stimulant,  in  the  shape 
of  "  a  dandy  of  punch,"  and  bore  the  evidences  of  it  in  a 
heightened  color  and  a  very  lustrous  but  wandering  eye. 

''  Here  I  am,"  said  he,  entering  with  a  sort  of  easy  swag- 
ger, but  far  more  affected  than  real,  notwithstanding  the 
"dandy." 

"Well,  and  what  then?"  asked  Couyers,  haughtily,  for 
the  vulgar  presumption  of  his  manner  was  but  a  sorry  ad- 
vocate in  his  favor.  "  I  don't  remember  that  I  sent  for 
you." 

"  No ;  but  my  father  told  me  what  you  said  to  him,  and  I 
was  to  come  up  and  thank  you,  and  say,  '  Done  ! '  to  it  all." 

Conyers  turned  a  look  —  not  a  very  pleased  or  very  flat- 
tering look  —  at  the  loutish  figure  before  him,  and  in  his 
changing  color  might  be  seen  the  conflict  it  cost  him  to  keep 
down  his  rising  temper.     He'  was,  indeed,  sorely  tried,  and 


118  BAKKINGTON. 

his  band  shook  as  he  tossed  over  the  books  on  his  table,  and 
endeavored  to  seem  occupied  in  other  matters. 

"  Maj'be  you  forget  all  about  it,"  began  Tom.  "  Perhaps 
you  don't  remember  that  you  offered  to  fit  me  out  for  India, 
and  send  me  over  with  a  letter  to  your  father  —  " 

"  No,  no,  I  forget  nothing  of  it ;  I  remember  it  all."  He 
had  almost  said  "  only  too  well,"  but  he  coughed  down  the 
cruel  speech,  and  went  on  hurriedly:  "You  have  come, 
however,  when  I  am  engaged,  —  when  I  have  other  things  to 
attend  to.  These  letters  here  —  In  fact,  this  is  not  a 
moment  when  I  can  attend  to  you.  Do  you  understand 
me?" 

"  I  believe  I  do,"  said  Tom,  growing  very  pale. 

"  To-morrow,  then,  Or  the  day  after,  or  next  week,  will 
be  time  enough  for  all  this.  I  must  think  over  the  matter 
again." 

"I  see,"  said  Tom,  moodily,  as  he  changed  from  one  foot 
to  the  other,  and  cracked  the  joints  of  his  fingers,  till  they 
seemed  dislocated.     "  I  see  it  all." 

"  AVhat  do  you  mean  by  that?  —  what  do  you  see?  "  asked 
Conyers,  angrily. 

"I  see  that  Polly,  my  sister,  was  right;  that  she  knew 
you  better  than  any  of  us,"  said  Tom,  boldly,  for  a  sudden 
rush  of  courage  had  now  filled  his  heart.  "  She  said,  '  Don't 
let  him  turn  your  head,  Tom,  with  his  fine  promises.  He 
was  in  good  humor  and  good  spirits  when  he  made  them, 
and  perhaps  meant  to  keep  them  too ;  but  he  little  knows 
what  misery  disappointment  brings,  and  he  '11  never  fret 
himself  over  the  heavy  heart  he 's  giving  you,  when  he  wakes 
in  the  morning  with  a  change  of  mind.'  And  then,  she  said 
another  thing,"  added  he,  after  a  pause. 

"  And  what  was  the  other  thing? " 

"  She  said,  'If  you  go  up  there,  Tom,'  says  she,  '  dressed 
out  like  a  shopboy  in  his  Sunday  suit,  he'll  be  actually 
shocked  at  his  having  taken  an  interest  in  you.  He  '11  forget 
all  about  your  hard  lot  and  your  struggling  fortune,  and 
only  see  your  vulgarity.'  'Your  vulgarity,'  —  that  was  the 
word."  As  he  said  this,  his  lip  trembled,  and  the  chair  he 
leaned  on  shook  under  his  grasp. 

"Go  back,  and  tell  her,  then,  that  she  was  mistaken," 


THE   ANSWER. 


119 


said  Conyers,  whose  own  voice  now  quavered.  "Tell  her 
that  when  I  give  my  word  I  keep  it ;  that  I  will  maintain 
everything  I  said  to  you  or  to  your  father ;  and  that  when 
she  imputed  to  me  an  indifference  as  to  the  feelings  of  others, 
she  might  have  remembered  whether  she  was  not  unjust  to 
mine.     Tell  her  that  also." 


"I  will,"  said  Tom,  gravely.     "Is  there  anything  more?  " 
"No,   nothing  more,"  said  Conyers,  who  with  difficulty 

suppressed   a   smile   at   the   words  and  the  manner  of  his 

questioner. 

"Good-bye,  then.     You'll  send  for  me  when  you  want 

me,"  said  Tom;  and  he  was  out  of  the  room,  and  half-way 

across   the   lawn,    ere   Conyers   could   recover    himself   to 

reply. 


120  BARRINGTON. 

Conyers,  however,  flung  open  the  window,  and  cried  to 
him  to  come  back. 

"1  was  nigh  forgetting  a  most  important  part  of  the 
matter,  Tom,"  said  he,  as  the  other  entered,  somewhat  pale 
and  anxious-looking.  "You  told  me,  t'  other  day,  that  there 
was  some  payment  to  be  made,  —  some  sum  to  be  lodged 
before  you  could  present  yourself  for  examination.  What 
about  this  ?     When  must  it  be  done  ?  " 

"A  month  before  I  go  in,"  said  Tom,  to  whom  the  very 
thought  of  the  ordeal  seemed  full  of  terror  and  heart- 
sinking. 

"And  how  soon  do  you  reckon  that  may  be?" 

"Polly  says  not  before  eight  weeks  at  the  earliest.  She 
says  we  '11  have  to  go  over  Bell  on  the  Bones  all  again,  and 
brush  up  the  Ligaments,  besides.  If  it  was  the  Navy, 
they  'd  not  mind  the  nerves ;  but  they  tell  me  the  Army 
fellows  often  take  a  man  on  the  fifth  pair,  and  I  know  if 
they  do  me,  it's  mighty  little  of  India  I'll  see." 

"Plucked,  eh?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  '  plucked,'  but  I'd  be 
turned  back,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  same.  And  no  great 
disgrace,  either,"  added  he,  with  more  of  courage  in  his 
voice;  "Polly  herself  says  there  's  days  she  could  n't  remem- 
ber all  the  branches  of  the  fifth,  and  the  third  is  almost  as 
bad." 

"I  suppose  if  your  sister  could  go  up  in  your  place,  Tom, 
you  'd  be  quite  sure  of  your  diploma?  " 

"It's  many  and  many  a  day  I  wished  that  same,"  sighed 
he,  heavily.  "If  you  heard  her  going  over  the  '  Sub- 
clavian,' you  'd  swear  she  had  the  book  in  her  hand." 

Conyers  could  not  repress  a  smile  at  this  strange  piece  of 
feminine  accomplishment,  but  he  was  careful  not  to  let  Tom 
perceive  it.  Not,  indeed,  that  the  poor  fellow  was  in  a  very 
observant  mood ;  Polly's  perfections,  her  memory,  and  her 
quickness  were  the  themes  that  filled  up  his  mind. 

"AVhat  a  rare  piece  of  luck  for  you  to  have  had  such  a 
sister,  Tom !  " 

"  Don't  I  say  it  to  myself?  —  don't  I  repeat  the  very  same 
words  every  morning  when  I  awake  ?  Maybe  I  '11  never  come 
to  any  good;  maybe  my  father  is  right,  and  that  I  '11  only 


THE  ANSWER.  121 

be  a  disgrace  as  long  as  I  live;  but  I  hope  one  thing,  at 
least,  I  '11  never  be  so  bad  that  I  '11  forget  Polly,  and  all 
she  done  for  me.  And  I'll  tell  you  more,"  said  he,  with 
a  choking  fulness  in  his  throat;  "if  they  turn  me  back  at 
my  examination,  my  heart  will  be  heavier  for  her  than  for 
myself. " 

"Come,  cheer  up,  Tom;  don't  look  on  the  gloomy  side. 
You  '11  pass,  I  'm  certain,  and  with  credit  too.  Here  's  the 
thirty  pounds  you  '11  have  to  lodge  —  " 

"It  is  only  twenty  they  require.  And,  besides,  I 
could  n't  take  it;  it 's  my  father  must  pay."  He  stammered, 
and  hesitated,  and  grew  pale  and  then  crimson,  while  his 
lips  trembled  and  his  chest  heaved  and  fell  almost  convul- 
sively. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  Tom,"  said  Conyers,  who  had  to 
subdue  his  own  emotion  by  an  assumed  sternness.  "The 
plan  is  all  my  own,  and  I  will  stand  no  interference  with  it. 
I  mean  that  you  should  pass  your  examination  without  your 
father  knowing  one  word  about  it.  You  shall  come  back 
to  him  with  your  diploma,  or  whatever  it  is,  in  your  hand, 
and  say,  '  There,  sir,  the  men  who  have  signed  their  names 
to  that  do  not  think  so  meanly  of  me  as  you  do.'  " 

"And  he'd  say,  the  more  fools  they! "  said  Tom,  with  a 
grim  smile. 

"At  all  events,"  resumed  Conyers,  "I'll  have  my  own 
way.  Put  that  note  in  your  pocket,  and  whenever  you  are 
gazetted  Surgeon-Major  to  the  Guards,  or  Inspector-General 
of  all  the  Hospitals  in  Great  Britain,  you  can  repay  me, 
and  with  interest,  besides,  if  you  like  it." 

"You  've  given  me  a  good  long  day  to  be  in  your  debt," 
said  Tom ;  and  he  hurried  out  of  the  room  before  his  over- 
full heart  should  betray  his  emotion. 

It  is  marvellous  how  ciuickly  a  kind  action  done  to  another 
reconciles  a  man  to  himself.  Doubtless  conscience  at  such 
times  condescends  to  play  the  courtier,  and  whispers, 
"  What  a  good  fellow  you  are !  and  how  unjust  the  world  is 
when  it  calls  you  cold  and  haughty  and  ungenial!"  Not 
that  I  would  assert  higher  and  better  thoughts  than  these 
do  not  reward  him  who,  Samaritan-like,  binds  up  the 
wounds  of  misery;  but  I  fear  me  much  that  few  of  us  resist 


122  BARRINGTON. 

self-flattery,  or  those  little  delicate  adulations  one  can  offer 
to  his  own  heart  when  nobody  overhears  him. 

At  all  events,  Conyers  was  not  averse  to  this  pleasure, 
and  grew  actually  to  feel  a  strong  interest  for  Tom  Dill, 
all  because  that  poor  fellow  had  been  the  recipient  of  his 
bounty;  for  so  is  it  the  waters  of  our  nature  must  be 
stirred  by  some  act  of  charity  or  kindness,  else  their  heal- 
ing virtues  have  small  efficacy,  and  cure  not. 

And  then  he  wondered  and  questioned  himself  whether 
Polly  might  not  possibly  be  right,  and  that  his  "governor" 
would  marvel  where  and  how  he  had  picked  up  so  strange 
a  specimen  as  Tom.  That  poor  fellow,  too,  like  many  an 
humble  flower,  seen  not  disadvantageously  in  its  native 
wilds,  would  look  strangely  out  of  place  when  transplanted 
and  treated  as  an  exotic.  Still  he  could  trust  to  the  wide 
and  generous  nature  of  his  father  to  overlook  small  defects 
of  manner  and  breeding,  and  take  the  humble  fellow  kindly. 

Must  I  own  that  a  considerable  share  of  his  hopefulness 
was  derived  from  thinking  that  the  odious  blue  coat  and 
brass  buttons  could  scarcely  make  part  of  Tom's  kit  for 
India,  and  that  in  no  other  costume  known  to  civilized  man 
could  his  protege  look  so  unprepossessingly  ? 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

A    FEW    LEAVES    FROil    A    BLUE-BOOK. 

The  journal  which  Miss  Barringtou  had  placed  in  Conyers's 
hands  was  little  else  than  the  record  of  the  sporting  adven- 
tures of  two  young  and  very  dashing  fellows.  There  were 
lion  and  tiger  hunts,  so  little  varied  in  detail  that  one  might 
serve  for  all,  though  doubtless  to  the  narrator  each  was 
marked  with  its  own  especial  intei-est.  There  were  travel- 
ling incidents  and  accidents,  and  straits  for  money,  and  mis- 
haps and  arrests,  and  stories  of  steeple-chases  and  balls  all 
mixed  up  together,  and  recounted  so  very  much  in  the  same 
spirit  as  to  show  how  very  little  shadow  mere  misadventure 
could  throw  across  the  sunshine  of  their  every-day  life. 
But  every  now  and  then  Conyers  came  upon  some  entry 
which  closely  touched  his  heart.  It  was  how  nobly  Ormsby 
behaved.  What  a  splendid  fellow  he  was!  so  frank,  so 
generous,  such  a  horseman!  "I  wish  you  saw  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  Mahratta  fellows  as  Ormsby  lifted  the  tent-pegs 
in  full  career;  he  never  missed  one.  Ormsby  won  the  rifle- 
match  ;  we  all  knew  he  would.  Sir  Peregrine  invited  Ormsby 
to  go  with  him  to  the  Hills,  but  he  refused,  mainly  because 
I  was  not  asked."  Ormsby  has  been  offered  this,  that,  or 
t'other;  in  fact,  that  one  name  recurred  in  every  second 
sentence,  and  always  with  the  same  marks  of  affection. 
How  proud,  too,  did  Harrington  seem  of  his  friend.  "They 
have  found  out  that  no  country-house  is  perfect  without 
Ormsby,  and  he  is  positively  persecuted  with  invitations. 
I  hear  the  'G.-G.'  is  provoked  at  Ormsby's  refusal  of  a 
staff  appointment.  I'm  in  rare  luck;  the  old  Rajah  of 
Tannanoohr  has  asked  Ormsby  to  a  grand  elephant-hunt 
next  week,  and  I  'm  to  go  with  him.  I  'm  to  have  a  leave 
in  October.     Ormsby  managed  it  somehow ;  he  never  fails, 


124  BAIIRINGTOIT. 

whatever  he  takes  in  haud.  Such  a  fright  as  I  got  yes- 
terday !  There  was  a  report  in  the  camp  Ormsby  was  going 
to  England  with  despatches;  it's  all  a  mistake,  however, 
he  says.  He  believes  he  might  have  had  the  opportunity, 
had  he  cared  for  it." 

If  there  was  not  much  in  these  passing  notices  of  his 
father,  there  was  quite  enough  to  impart  to  them  an  intense 
degree  of  interest.  There  is  a  wondrous  charm,  besides,  in 
reading  of  the  young  da3'S  of  those  we  have  only  known  in 
maturer  life,  in  hearing  of  them  when  they  were  fresh, 
ardent,  and  impetuous;  in  knowing,  besides,  how  they  were 
regarded  by  contemporaries,  how  loved  and  valued.  It  was 
not  merely  that  Ormsby  recurred  in  almost  every  page  of 
this  journal,  but  the  record  bore  testimony  to  his  superiority 
and  the  undisputed  sway  he  exercised  over  his  companions. 
This  same  power  of  dominating  and  directing  had  been  the 
distinguishing  feature  of  his  after-life,  and  many  an  unruly 
and  turbulent  spirit  had  been  reclaimed  under  Ormsby  Con- 
yers's  hands. 

As  he  read  on,  he  grew  also  to  feel  a  strong  interest  for 
the  writer  himself;  the  very  heartiness  of  the  affection  he 
bestowed  on  his  father,  and  the  noble  generosity  with  which 
he  welcomed  every  success  of  that  "dear  fellow  Ormsby," 
were  more  than  enough  to  secure  his  interest  for  him.  There 
was  a  bold,  almost  reckless  dash,  too,  about  Barrington 
which  has  a  great  charm  occasionally  for  very  3'oung  men. 
He  adventured  upon  life  pretty  much  as  he  would  try  to 
cross  a  river;  he  never  looked  for  a  shallow  nor  inquired 
for  a  ford,  but  plunged  boldly  in,  and  trusted  to  his  brave 
heart  and  his  strong  arms  for  the  rest.  No  one,  indeed, 
reading  even  these  rough  notes,  could  hesitate  to  pronounce 
which  of  the  two  would  "make  the  spoon,"  and  which  "spoil 
the  horn."  Young  Conyers  was  eager  to  find  some  mention 
of  the  incident  to  which  Miss  Barrington  had  vaguely 
alluded.  He  wanted  to  read  George  Barrington's  own 
account  before  he  opened  the  little  pamphlet  she  gave  him, 
but  the  journal  closed  years  before  this  event;  and  although 
some  of  the  letters  came  down  to  a  later  date,  none  ap- 
proached the  period  he  wanted. 

It  was  not  till  after  some  time  that  he  remarked  how  much 


A  FEW  lea\t:s  from  a  blue-book  125 

more  unfrequently  his  father's  name  occurred  in  the  latter 
portion  of  the  correspondence.  P^utire  pages  would  contain 
no  reference  to  him,  and  la  the  last  letter  of  all  there  was 
this  towards  the  end:  "After  all,  I  am  almost  sorry  that  I 
am  first  for  purchase,  for  I  believe  Ormsby  is  most  anxious 
for  his  troop.  I  say  '  I  believe,'  for  he  has  not  told  me  so, 
and  when  I  offered  to  give  way  to  him,  he  seemed  half 
offended  with  me.  You  know  what  a  bungler  I  am  where 
a  matter  of  any  delicacy  is  to  be  treated,  and  you  may  easily 
fancy  either  that  /  mismanage  the  affair  grossly,  or  that  I 
am  as  grossly  mistaken.  One  thing  is  certain,  I  'd  see  pro- 
motion far  enough,  rather  than  let  it  make  a  coldness  beween 
ns,  which  could  never  occur  if  he  were  as  frank  as  he  used 
to  be.  My  dear  aunt,  I  wish  I  had  your  wise  head  to 
counsel  me,  for  I  have  a  scheme  in  my  mind  which  I  have 
scarcely  courage  for  without  some  advice,  and  for  many 
reasons  I  cannot  ask  O.'s  opinion.  Between  this  and  the 
next  mail  I  '11  think  it  over  carefully,  and  tell  you  what  I 
intend. 

"I  told  you  that  Ormsby  was  going  to  marry  one  of  the 
Governor-General's  daughters.  It  is  all  off,  —  at  least,  I 
bear  so,  — and  O.  has  asked  for  leave  to  go  home.  I  sus- 
pect he  is  sorely  cut  up  about  this,  but  he  is  too  proud  a 
fellow  to  let  the  world  see  it.  Report  says  that  Sir  Peregrine 
heard  that  he  played.  So  he  does,  because  he  does  every- 
thing, and  everything  well.  If  he  does  go  to  England,  he 
will  certainly  pay  you  a  visit.  Make  much  of  him  for  my 
sake;  you  could  not  make  too  much  for  his  own." 

This  was  the  last  mention  of  his  father,  and  he  pondered 
long  and  thoughtfully  over  it.  He  saw,  or  fancied  he  saw, 
the  first  faint  glimmerings  of  a  coldness  between  them,  and 
he  hastily  turned  to  the  printed  report  of  the  House  of 
Commons  inquiry,  to  see  what  part  his  father  had  taken. 
His  name  occurred  but  once;  it  was  appended  to  an  extract 
of  a  letter,  addressed  to  him  by  the  Governor-General.  It 
was  a  confidential  report,  and  much  of  it  omitted  in  publi- 
cation. It  was  throughout,  however,  a  warm  and  generous 
testimony  to  Barrington's  character.  "I  never  knew  a 
man,"  said  he,  "less  capable  of. anything  mean  or  unworthy; 
nor  am  I  able  to  imagine  any  temptation  strong  enough  to 


126  BARRINGTON. 

warp  him  from  what  he  believed  to  be  right.  That  on  a 
quostiou  of  policy  his  judgment  might  be  wrong,  I  am  quite 
ready  to  admit,  but  I  will  maintain  that,  on  a  point  of 
honor,  he  would,  and  must,  be  infallible."  Underneath  this 
passage  there  was  written,  in  Miss  Barrington's  hand, 
"Poor  George  never  saw  this;  it  was  not  published  till  after 
his  death."  So  interested  did  young  Conyers  feel  as  to  the 
friendship  between  these  two  men,  and  what  it  could  have 
been  that  made  a  breach  between  them,  —  if  breach  there 
were,  —  that  he  sat  a  long  time  without  opening  the  little 
volume  that  related  to  the  charge  against  Colonel  Barrington. 
He  had  but  to  open  it,  however,  to  guess  the  spirit  in  whicli 
it  was  written.  Its  title  was,  "The  Story  of  Samuel  Ed- 
wardes,  with  an  Account  of  the  Persecutions  and  Tortures 
inflicted  on  him  by  Colonel  George  Barrington,  when  serving 
in  command  of  the  Forces  of  the  Meer  Nagheer  Assahr, 
Rajah  of  Luckerabad,  based  on  the  documents  produced 
before  the  Committee  of  the  House,  and  private  authentic 
information."  Opposite  to  this  lengthy  title  was  an  ill- 
executed  wood-cut  of  a  young  fellow  tied  up  to  a  tree,  and 
being  flogged  by  two  native  Indians,  with  the  inscription  at 
foot:  "Mode  of  celebrating  His  Majesty's  Birthday,  4th  of 
June,  18 — ,  at  the  Residence  of  Luckerabad." 

In  the  writhing  figure  of  the  youth,  and  the  ferocious  glee 
of  his  executioners,  the  artist  had  displaj'ed  all  his  skill 
in  expression,  and  very  unmistakably  shown,  besides,  the 
spirit  of  the  publication.  I  have  no  intention  to  inflict  this 
upon  my  reader.  I  will  simply  give  him  —  and  as  briefly  as 
I  am  able  —  its  substance. 

The  Rajah  of  Luckerabad,  an  independent  sovereign, 
living  on  the  best  of  terms  with  the  Government  of  the 
Company,  had  obtained  permission  to  employ  an  English 
officer  in  the  chief  command  of  his  army,  a  force  of  some 
twenty-odd  thousand,  of  all  arms.  It  was  essential  that  he 
should  be  one  not  only  well  acquainted  with  the  details 
of  command,  but  fully  equal  to  the  charge  of  organiza- 
tion of  a  force;  a  man  of  energy  and  decision,  well  versed 
in  Hindostanee,  and  not  altogether  ignorant  of  Persian, 
in  which,  occasionally,  correspondence  was  carried  on. 
Amongst  the  many  candidates  for  an  employment  so  certain 


UNIVE 


LEAVES  FROM  A  BLUE-BOOK.  127 

to  insure  the  fortune  of  its  possessor,  Major  Barrington, 
then  a  brevet  Lieutenant-Colonel,  was  chosen. 

It  is  not  improbable  that,  in  mere  technical  details  of  his 
art,  he  might  have  had  mauy  equal  aud  some  superior  to  him ; 
it  was  well  known  that  his  personal  requisites  were  above 
all  rivalry.  He  was  a  man  of  great  size  and  strength,  of  a 
most  commanding  presence,  an  accomplished  linguist  in  the 
various  dialects  of  Central  India  and  a  great  master  of  all 
manly  exercises.  To  these  qualities  he  added  an  Oriental 
taste  for  splendor  and  pomp.  It  had  always  been  his  habit 
to  live  in  a  style  of  costly  extravagance,  with  the  retinue  of 
a  petty  prince,  and  when  he  travelled  it  was  with  the  follow- 
ing of  a  native  chief. 

Though,  naturally  enough,  such  a  station  as  a  separate 
command  gave  might  be  regarded  as  a  great  object  of  ambi- 
tion by  many,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  surprise  felt  at  the 
time  that  Barrington,  reputedly  a  man  of  large  fortune, 
should  have  accepted  it;  the  more  so  since,  by  his  contract, 
he  bound  himself  for  ten  years  to  the  Rajah,  and  thus  for- 
ever extinguished  all  prospect  of  advancement  in  his  own 
service.  There  were  all  manner  of  guesses  afloat  as  to  his 
reasons.  Some  said  that  he  was  already  so  embarrassed  by 
his  extravagance  that  it  was  his  only  exit  out  of  difficulty; 
others  pretended  that  he  was  captivated  by  the  gorgeous 
splendor  of  that  Eastern  life  he  loved  so  well;  that  pomp, 
display,  and  magnificence  were  bribes  he  could  not  resist; 
and  a  few,  who  affected  to  see  more  nearly,  whispered  that 
he  was  unhappy  of  late,  had  grown  peevish  and  uncompan- 
ionable, and  sought  any  change,  so  that  it  took  him  out  of 
his  regiment.  Whatever  the  cause,  he  bade  his  brother- 
officers  farewell  without  revealing  it,  and  set  out  for  his  new 
destination.  He  had  never  anticipated  a  life  of  ease  or 
inaction,  but  he  was  equally  far  from  imagining  anything 
like  what  now  awaited  him.  Corruption,  falsehood,  rob- 
bery, on  every  hand!  The  army  was  little  else  than  a 
brigand  establishment,  living  on  the  peasants,  and  exacting, 
at  the  sword  point,  whatever  they  wanted.  There  was  no 
obedience  to  discipline.  The  Rajah  troubled  himself  about 
nothing  but  his  pleasures,  and,  indeed,  passed  his  days  so 
drugged  with  opium  as  to  be  almost  insensible  to  all  around 


128  BARKINGTON. 

him.  In  the  tribunals  there  was  nothing  hut  bribery,  and 
the  object  of  every  one  seemed  to  be  to  amass  fortunes  as 
rapidly  as  possible,  and  then  hasten  away  from  a  country 
so  insecure  and  dangerous. 

For  some  days  after  his  arrival,  Harrington  hesitated 
whether  he  would  accept  a  charge  so  apparently  hopeless; 
Lis  bold  heart,  however,  decided  the  doubt,  and  he  resolved 
to  remain.  His  first  care  was  to  look  about  him  for  one  or 
two  more  trustworthy  than  the  masses,  if  such  there  should 
be,  to  assist  him,  and  the  Rajah  referred  him  to  his  secre- 
tary for  that  purpose.  It  was  with  sincere  pleasure  Barring- 
ton  discovered  that  this  man  was  English,  —  that  is,  his 
father  had  been  an  Englishman,  and  his  mother  was  a 
Malabar  slave  in  the  Rajah's  household:  his  name  was 
Edwardes,  but  called  by  the  natives  Ali  Edwardes.  He 
looked  about  sixty,  but  his  real  age  was  about  forty-six 
when  Barrington  came  to  the  Residence.  He  was  a  man 
of  considerable  ability,  uniting  all  the  craft  and  subtlety  of 
the  Oriental  with  the  dogged  perseverance  of  the  Briton. 
He  had  enjoyed  the  full  favor  of  the  Rajah  for  nigh  twenty 
years,  and  was  strongly  averse  to  the  appointment  of  an 
English  officer  to  the  command  of  the  army,  knowing  full 
well  the  influence  it  would  have  over  his  own  fortunes.  He 
represented  to  the  Rajah  that  the  Company  was  only  in- 
triguing to  absorb  his  dominions  with  their  own;  that  the 
new  Commander-in-chief  would  be  their  servant  and  not  his; 
that  it  was  by  such  machinery  as  this  they  secretly  pos- 
sessed themselves  of  all  knowledge  of  the  native  sovereigns, 
learned  their  weakness  and  their  strength,  and  through  such 
agencies  hatched  those  plots  and  schemes  by  which  many 
a  chief  had  been  despoiled  of  his  state. 

The  Rajah,  however,  saw  that  if  he  had  a  grasping  Gov- 
ernment on  one  side,  he  had  an  insolent  and  rebellious  army 
on  the  other.  There  was  not  much  to  choose  between  them, 
but  he  took  the  side  that  he  thought  the  least  bad,  and  left 
the  rest  to  Fate. 

Having  failed  with  the  Rajah,  Edwardes  tried  what  he 
could  do  with  Ban-ington;  and  certainly,  if  but  a  tithe  of 
what  he  told  him  were  true,  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  would  have  been  that  he  should  give  up  his  appoint- 


A   FEW  LEAVES   FROM   A   BLUE-BOOK.  129 

meut,  and  quit  forever  a  land  so  hopelessly  sunk  in  vice  and 
corruption.  Cunning  and  crafty  as  he  was,  however,  he 
made  one  mistake,  and  that  an  irreparable  one.  When 
dilating  on  the  insubordination  of  the  army,  its  lawless  ways 
and  libertine  habits,  he  declared  that  nothing  short  of  a 
superior  force  in  the  field  could  have  any  chance  of  enfor- 
cing discipline.  "As  to  a  command,"  said  he,  "it  is  simply 
ludicrous.  Let  any  man  try  it  and  they  will  cut  him  down 
in  the  very  midst  of  his  staff." 

That  unlucky  speech  decided  the  question;  and  Barring- 
ton  simply  said,  — 

"I  have  heard  plenty  of  this  sort  of  thing  in  India;  I 
never  saw  it,  — I  '11  stay." 

Stay  he  did;  and  he  did  more:  he  reformed  that  rabble, 
and  made  of  them  a  splendid  force,  able,  disciplined,  and 
obedient.  With  the  influence  of  his  success,  added  to  that 
derived  from  the  confidence  reposed  in  him  by  the  Rajah, 
he  introduced  many  and  beneficial  changes  into  the  admin- 
istration; he  punished  peculators  by  military  law,  and 
brought  knavish  sutlers  to  the  drum-head.  In  fact,  by  the 
exercise  of  a  salutary  despotism,  he  rescued  the  state  from 
an  impending  bankruptcy  and  ruin,  placed  its  finances  in 
a  healthy  condition,  and  rendered  the  country  a  model  of 
prosperity  and  contentment.  The  Rajah  had,  like  most  of 
his  rank  and  class,  been  in  litigation,  occasionally  in 
armed  contention,  with  some  of  his  neighbors, — one  espe- 
cially, an  uncle,  whom  he  accused  of  having  robbed  him, 
when  his  guardian,  of  a  large  share  of  his  heritage.  This 
suit  had  gone  on  for  years,  varied  at  times  by  little  raids 
into  each  other's  territories,  to  burn  villages  and  carry  away 
cattle.  Though  with  a  force  more  than  sufficient  to  have 
earned  the  question  with  a  strong  hand,  Barrington  pre- 
ferred the  more  civilized  mode  of  leaving  the  matter  in 
dispute  to  others,  and  suggested  the  Company  as  arbitrator. 
The  negotiations  led  to  a  lengthy  correspondence,  in  which 
Edwardes  and  his  son,  a  youth  of  seventeen  or  eighteen, 
were  actively  occupied;  and  although  Barrington  was  not 
without  certain  misgivings  as  to  their  trustworthiness  and 
honesty,  he  knew  their  capacity,  and  had  not,  besides,  any 
one  at  all  capable  of  replacing  them.     Wliile  these  aflfairs 

VOL.   I.  —  9 


130  BAKREN'GTON. 

were  yet  pending,  Bairington  married  the  daughter  of  the 
Meer,  a  j'oung  girl  whose  mother  had  been  a  convert  to 
Christianity,  and  who  had  herself  been  educated  by  a  Cath- 
olic missionary.  She  died  in  the  second  year  of  her  mar- 
riage, giving  birth  to  a  daughter;  but  Barrington  had  now 
become  so  completely  the  centre  of  all  action  in  the  state, 
that  the  Rajah  interfered  in  nothing,  leaving  in  his  hands  the 
undisputed  control  of  the  Government;  nay,  more,  he  made 
him  his  son  by  adoption,  leaving  to  him  not  alone  all  his 
immense  personal  property,  but  the  inheritance  to  his  throne. 
Though  Barrington  was  advised  by  all  the  great  legal  author- 
ities he  consulted  in  England  that  such  a  bequest  could  not 
be  good  in  law,  nor  a  British  subject  be  permitted  to  succeed 
to  the  rights  of  an  Eastern  sovereignty',  he  obstinatelj'  de- 
clared that  the  point  was  yet  untried ;  that,  however  theoret- 
icall}'  the  opinion  might  be  correct,  practically  the  question 
had  not  been  determined,  nor  had  any  case  yet  occurred  to 
rule  as  a  precedent  on  it.  If  he  was  not  much  of  a  lawyer, 
he  was  of  a  temperament  that  could  not  brook  opposition. 
In  fact,  to  make  him  take  any  particular  road  in  life,  you 
had  only  to  erect  a  barricade  on  it.  When,  therefore,  he 
was  told  the  matter  could  not  be,  his  answer  was,  "It 
shall !  "  Calcutta  lawyers,  men  deep  in  knowledge  of  Orien- 
tal law  and  custom,  learned  Moonshees  and  Pundits,  were 
despatched  by  him  at  enormous  cost,  to  England,  to  confer 
with  the  great  authorities  at  home.  Agents  were  sent  over 
to  procure  the  influence  of  great  Parliamentary  speakers  and 
the  leaders  in  the  press  to  the  cause.  For  a  matter  which,  in 
the  beginning,  he  cared  scarcely  anything,  if  at  all,  he  had 
now  grown  to  feel  the  most  intense  and  absorbing  interest. 
Half  persuading  himself  that  the  personal  question  was 
less  to  him  than  the  great  privilege  and  right  of  an  English- 
man, he  declared  that  he  would  rather  die  a  beggar  in  the 
defence  of  the  cause  than  abandon  it.  So  possessed  was  he, 
indeed,  of  his  rights,  and  so  resolved  to  maintain  them,  sup- 
ported by  a  firm  belief  that  they  would  and  must  be  ulti- 
mately conceded  to  him,  that  in  the  correspondence  with 
the  other  chiefs  every  reference  which  spoke  of  the  future 
sovereignty  of  Luckerabad  included  bis  own  name  and  title, 
and  this  with  an  ostentation  quite  Oriental. 


A  FEW  LEAVES   FROM  A  BLUE-BOOK.  131 

Whether  Edwardes  had  been  less  warm  and  energetic  in 
the  canse  than  Barrington  expected,  or  whether  his  counsels 
were  less  palatable,  certain  it  is  he  grew  daily  more  and  more 
distrustful  of  him;  but  an  event  soon  occurred  to  make  this 
suspicion  a  certainty. 

The  negotiations  between  the  Meer  and  his  uncle  had  been 
so  successfully  conducted  by  Barrington,  that  the  latter 
agreed  to  give  up  three  "Pegunnahs,"  or  villages  he  had 
unrightfully  seized  upon,  and  to  pay  a  heavy  mulct,  besides, 
for  the  unjust  occupation  of  them.  This  settlement  had 
been,  as  may  be  imagined,  a  work  of  much  time  and  labor, 
and  requiring  not  only  immense  forbearance  and  patience, 
but  intense  watchfulness  and  unceasing  skill  and  craft. 
Edwardes,  of  course,  was  constantly  engaged  in  the  affair, 
with  the  details  of  which  he  had  been  for  years  familiar. 
Now,  although  Barrington  was  satis  Bed  with  the  zeal  he  dis- 
played, he  was  less  so  with  his  counsels,  Edwardes  always 
insisting  that  in  every  dealing  with  an  Oriental  you  must 
inevitably  be  beaten  if  you  would  not  make  use  of  all  the 
stratagem  and  deceit  he  is  sure  to  employ  against  you. 
There  was  not  a  day  on  which  the  wily  secretary  did  not 
suggest  some  cunning  expedient,  some  clever  trick;  and 
Barrington' s  abrupt  rejection  of  them  only  impressed  him 
with  a  notion  of  his  weakness  and  deficienc3\ 

One  morning  —  it  was  after  many  defeats  —  Edwardes 
appeared  with  the  draft  of  a  document  he  had  been  ordered 
to  draw  out,  and  in  which,  of  his  own  accord,  he  had  made 
a  large  use  of  threats  to  the  neighboring  chief,  should  he 
continue  to  protract  these  proceedings.  These  threats  very 
unmistakably  pointed  to  the  dire  consequences  of  opposing 
the  great  Government  of  the  Company;  for,  as  the  writer 
argued,  the  succession  to  the  Ameer  being  already  vested 
in  an  Englishman,  it  is  perfectly  clear  the  powerful  nation 
he  belongs  to  will  take  a  very  summary  mode  of  dealing  with 
this  question,  if  not  settled  before  he  comes  to  the  throne. 
He  pressed,  therefore,  for  an  immediate  settlement,  as  the 
best  possible  escape  from  difficulty. 

Barrington  scouted  the  suggestion  indignantly;  he  would 
not  hear  of  it. 

"What,"  said  he,  "is  it  while  these  very  rights  are  in 


132  BAllIUNGTON. 

litigation  that  I  am  to  employ  them  as  a  menace?  Who  i!» 
to  secure  me  being  one  clay  Kajah  of  Luckerabad  ?  Not  you, 
certainly,  who  have  never  ceased  to  speak  coldly  of  my 
claims.  Throw  that  draft  into  the  fire,  and  never  propose  a 
like  one  to  me  again!  " 

The  rebuke  was  not  forgotten.  Another  draft  was,  how- 
ever, prepared,  and  in  due  time  the  long-pending  negotia- 
tions were  concluded,  the  Meer's  uncle  having  himself  come 
to  Luckerabad  to  ratify  the  contract,  which,  being  engrossed 
on  a  leaf  of  the  Rajah's  Koran,  was  duly  signed  and  sealed 
by  both. 

It  was  during  the  festivities  incidental  to  this  visit  that 
Edwardes,  who  had  of  late  made  a  display  of  wealth  and 
splendor  quite  unaccountable,  made  a  proposal  to  the  Rajah 
for  the  hand  of  his  only  unmarried  daughter,  sister  to 
Barrington's  wife.  The  Rajah,  long  enervated  b}'  excess 
and  opium,  probably  cared  little  about  the  matter;  there 
were,  indeed,  but  a  few  moments  in  each  day  when  he  could 
be  fairly  pronounced  awake.  He  referred  the  question  to 
Barrington.  Not  satisfied  with  an  insulting  rejection  of  the 
proposal,  Barrington,  whose  passionate  moments  were 
almost  madness,  tauntingly  asked  by  what  means  Edwardes 
had  so  suddenly  acquired  the  wealth  which  had  prompted 
this  demand.  He  hinted  that  the  sources  of  his  fortune  were 
more  than  suspected,  and  at  last,  carried  awaj^  b}^  anger, 
for  the  discussion  grew  violent,  he  drew  from  his  desk 
a  slip  of  paper,  and  held  it  up.  "When  your  father  was 
drummed  out  of  the  4th  Bengal  Fusiliers  for  theft,  of  which 
this  is  the  record,  the  family  was  scarcely  so  ambitious." 
For  an  instant  Edwardes  seemed  overcome  almost  to  faint- 
ing; but  he  rallied,  and,  with  a  menace  of  his  clenched 
hand,  but  without  one  word,  he  hurried  away  before  Bar- 
rington could  resent  the  insult.  It  was  said  that  he  did  not 
return  to  his  house,  but,  taking  the  horse  of  an  orderl}-  that 
he  found  at  the  door,  rode  away  from  the  palace,  and  on  the 
same  night  crossed  the  frontier  into  a  neighboring  state. 

It  was  on  the  following  morning,  as  Barrington  was  pass- 
ing a  cavalry  regiment  in  review,  that  young  Edwardes, 
forcing  his  way  through  the  staff,  insolently  asked,  "What 
had  become  of  his  father  ? "  and  at  the  same  instant  level* 


A  FEW   LEAVES  FROM  A   BLUE-BOOK.  133 

liug  a  pistol,  he  fii-ed.  The  ball  passed  through  Barrington's 
shako,  and  so  close  to  the  head  that  it  grazed  it.  It  was 
only  with  a  loud  shout  to  abstain  that  Barrington  arrested 
the  o-leamiug  sabres  that  now  flourished  over  his  head. 
'•Your  father  has  fled,  youngster!"  cried  he.  "When  you 
show  him  that,"  —  and  he  struck  him  across  the  face  with 
his  horsewhip,  — "tell  him  how  near  you  were  to  have  been 
an  assassin !  "  With  this  savage  taunt,  he  gave  orders  that 
the  voung  fellow  should  be  conducted  to  the  nearest  frontier, 
and  turned  adrift.  Neither  father  nor  son  ever  were  seen 
there  again. 

Little  did  George  Barrington  suspect  what  was  to  come 
of  that  morning's  work.  Through  what  channel  Edwardes 
worked  at  first  was  not  known,  but  that  he  succeeded  in 
raising  up  for  himself  friends  in  England  is  certain;  by 
their  means  the  very  gravest  charges  were  made  against 
Barrington.  One  allegation  was  that  by  a  forged  document, 
claiming  to  be  the  assent  of  the  English  Government  to  his 
succession,  he  had  obtained  the  submission  of  several  native 
chiefs  to  his  rule  and  a  cession  of  territory  to  the  Rajah  of 
Luckerabad;  and  another  charged  him  with  having  cruelly 
tortured  a  British  subject  named  Samuel  Edwardes,  —  an 
investigation  entered  into  by  a  Committee  of  the  House, 
and  becoming,  while  it  lasted,  one  of  the  most  exciting 
subjects  of  public  interest.  Xor  was  the  anxiety  lessened 
by  the  death  of  the  elder  Edwardes,  which  occurred  during 
the  inquiry,  and  which  Barrington's  enemies  declared  to 
be  caused  by  a  broken  heart;  and  the  martyred  or  mur- 
dered Edwardes  was  no  uncommon  heading  to  a  paragraph 
of  the  time. 

Conyers  turned  to  the  massive  Blue-book  that  contained 
the  proceedings  "in  Committee,"  but  only  to  glance  at  the 
examination  of  witnesses,  whose  very  names  were  unfamiliar 
to  him.  He  could  perceive,  however,  that  the  inquiry  was  a 
long  one,  and,  from  the  tone  of  the  member  at  whose  motion 
it  was  instituted,  angry  and  vindictive. 

Edwardes  appeared  to  have  prefen-ed  charges  of  long  con- 
tinued persecution  and  oppression,  and  there  was  native  tes- 
timony in  abundance  to  sustain  the  allegation;  while  the 
British    Commissioner  sent  to-  Luckerabad  came    back   so 


134  BARRINGTON. 

prejudiced  against  Barrington,  from  his  proud  and  bauglity 
bearing,  that  his  report  was  unfavorable  to  him  in  all 
respects.  There  was,  it  is  true,  letters  from  various  high 
quarters,  all  speaking  of  Barrington's  early  career  as  both 
honorable  and  distinguished;  and,  lastly,  there  was  one 
signed  Ormsby  Conyers,  a  warm-hearted  testimony  "to  the 
most  straightforward  gentleman  and  truest  friend  I  have 
ever  known."  These  Avere  words  the  young  man  read  and 
re-read  a  dozen  times. 

Conyers  turned  eagerly  to  read  what  decision  had  been 
come  to  by  the  Committee,  but  the  proceedings  had  come 
abruptly  to  an  end  by  George  Barrington's  death.  A  f ew . 
lines  at  the  close  of  the  pamphlet  mentioned  that,  being 
summoned  to  appear  before  the  Governor-General  in  Coun- 
cil at  Calcutta,  Barrington  refused.  An  armed  force  was 
despatched  to  occupy  Luckerabad,  on  the  approach  of  which 
Barrington  rode  forth  to  meet  them,  attended  by  a  brilliant 
staff,  —  with  what  precise  object  none  knew ;  but  the  sight 
of  a  considerable  force,  drawn  up  at  a  distance  in  what 
seemed  order  of  battle,  implied  at  least  an  intention  to  re- 
sist. Coming  on  towards  the  advanced  pickets  at  a  fast 
gallop,  and  not  slackening  speed  when  challenged,  the  men, 
who  were  Bengal  infantry,  fired,  and  Barrington  fell,  pierced 
by  four  bullets.  He  never  uttered  a  word  after,  though  he 
lingered  on  till  evening.  The  force  was  commanded  by 
Lieutenant-Genei-al  Conyers. 

There  was  little  more  to  tell.  The  Rajah,  implicated  in 
the  charges  brought  against  Barrington,  and  totally  unable 
to  defend  himself,  despatched  a  confidential  minister,  Meer 
Mozarjah,  to  Europe  to  do  what  he  might  by  bribery.  This 
unhappy  blunder  filled  the  measure  of  his  ruin,  and  after  a 
very  brief  inquiry  the  Rajah  was  declared  to  have  forfeited 
his  throne  and  all  his  rights  of  succession.  The  Company 
took  possession  of  Luckerabad,  as  a  portion  of  British  India, 
but  from  a  generous  compassion  towards  the  deposed  chief, 
graciously  accorded  him  a  pension  of  ten  thousand  rupees  a 
month  during  his  life. 

My  reader  will  bear  in  mind  that  I  have  given  him  this 
recital,  not  as  it  came  before  Conyers,  distorted  by  false- 
hood and  disfigured  by  misstatements,  but  have  presented 


A  FEW  LEAVES  FROM  A  BLUE-BOOK.  135 

the  facts  as  nearly  as  they  might  be  derived  from  a  candid 
examination  of  all  the  testimony  adduced.  Ere  I  retui-n  to 
my  own  tale,  I  ought  to  add  that  Edwardes,  discredited  and 
despised  by  some,  upheld  and  maintained  by  others,  left 
Calcutta  with  the  proceeds  of  a  handsome  subscription 
raised  in  his  behalf.  Whether  he  went  to  reside  in  Europe, 
or  retired  to  some  other  part  of  India,  is  not  known.  He 
was  heard  of  no  more. 

As  for  the  Rajah,  his  efforts  still  continued  to  obtain  a 
revision  of  the  sentence  pronounced  upon  him,  and  his  case 
was  one  of  those  which  newspapers  slur  over  and  privy 
councils  ti-y  to  escape  from,  leaving  to  Time  to  solve  what 
Justice  has  no  taste  for. 

But  every  now  and  then  a  Blue-book  would  appear,  headed 
"East  India  (the  deposed  Rajah  of  Luckerabad),"  while  a 
line  in  an  evening  paper  would  intimate  that  the  Envoy  of 
Meer  Nagheer  Assahr  had  arrived  at  a  certain  West-end 
hotel  to  prosecute  the  suit  of  his  Highness  before  the  Judi- 
cial Committee  of  the  Lords.  How  pleasantly  does  a  para- 
graph dispose  of  a  whole  life-load  of  sorrows  and  of  wrongs 
that,  perhaps,  are  breaking  the  hearts  that  carry  them ! 

While  I  once  more  apologize  to  my  reader  for  the  length 
to  which  this  narrative  has  run,  I  owe  it  to  myself  to  state 
that,  had  I  presented  it  in  the  garbled  and  incorrect  version 
which  came  before  Conyers,  and  had  I  interpolated  all  the 
misconceptions  he  incui-red,  the  mistakes  he  first  fell  into 
and  then  coiTected,  I  should  have  been  far  more  tedious  and 
intolerable  still ;  and  now  I  am  again  under  weigh,  with  easy 
canvas,  but  over  a  calm  sea,  and  under  a  sky  but  slightly 
clouded. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Harrington's  ford. 

CONYERS  had  scarcely  finished  his  reading  when  he  was 
startled  by  the  galloping  of  horses  under  his  window  ;  so 
close,  indeed,  did  they  come  that  they  seemed  to  shake  the 
little  cottage  with  their  tramp.  He  looked  out,  but  they 
had  already  swept  past,  and  were  hidden  from  his  view  by 
the  copse  that  shut  out  the  river.  At  the  same  iustaut  he 
heard  the  confused  sound  of  many  voices,  and  what  sounded 
to  him  like  the  plash  of  horses  in  the  stream. 

Urged  by  a  strong  curiosity,  he  hurried  downstairs  and 
made  straight  for  the  river  by  a  path  that  led  through  the 
trees ;  but  before  he  could  emerge  from  the  cover  he  heard 
cries  of  "Not  there!  not  there!  Lower  down!"  "No, 
no !  up  higher !  up  higher !  Head  up  the  stream,  or  you  '11 
be  caught  in  the  gash!"  "Don't  hurry;  you've  time 
enough !  " 

When  he  gained  the  bank,  it  was  to  see  three  horsemen, 
who  seemed  to  be  cheering,  or,  as  it  might  be,  warning  a 
young  girl  who,  mounted  on  a  powerful  black  horse,  was 
deep  in  the  stream,  and  evidently  endeavoring  to  cross  it. 
Her  hat  hung  on  the  back  of  her  neck  by  its  ribbon,  and  her 
hair  had  also  fallen  down ;  but  one  glance  was  enough  to 
show  that  she  was  a  consummate  horsewoman,  and  whose 
courage  was  equal  to  her  skill ;  for  while  steadily  keeping 
her  horse's  head  to  the  swift  current,  she  was  careful  not  to 
control  him  overmuch,  or  impede  the  free  action  of  his 
powers.  Heeding,  as  it  seemed,  very  little  the  counsels  or 
warnings  showered  on  her  by  the  bystanders,  not  one  of 
whom,  to  Conyers's  intense  amazement,  had  ventured  to 
accompany  her,  she  urged  her  horse  steadily  forward. 


BARRINGTON'S   FORD.  137 

"Don't  hurry,  —  take  it  easy!"  called  out  one  of  the 
horsemen,  as  he  looked  at  his  watch.  "  You  have  fifty- 
three  minutes  left,  and  it's  all  turf." 

''  She  '11  do  it,  —  I  know  she  will !  "  "  She  '11  lose,  —  she 
must  lose!"  "It's  ten  miles  to  Foynes  Gap!"  "It's 
more!"  "It's  less!"  "There! — see! — she's  in,  by 
Jove !  she 's  in !  "  These  varying  comments  were  now  ar- 
rested by  the  intense  interest  of  the  moment,  the  horse  hav- 
ing impatiently  plunged  into  a  deep  pool,  and  struck  out  to 
swim  with  all  the  violent  exertion  of  an  affrighted  animal. 
"  Keep  his  head  up  !  "  "  Let  him  free,  quite  free !  "  "  Get 
your  foot  clear  of  the  stirrup !  "  cried  out  the  bystanders, 
while  in  lower  tones  they  muttered,  "  She  would  cross 
here  ! "  "  It's  all  her  own  fault !  "  Just  at  this  instant  she 
turned  in  her  saddle,  and  called  out  something  which, 
drowned  in  the  rush  of  the  river,  did  not  reach  them. 

"Don't  you  see,"  cried  Conyers,  passionately,  for  his 
temper  could  no  longer  endure  the  impassive  attitude  of 
this  on-looking,  "one  of  the  reins  is  broken,  her  bridle  is 
smashed  ?  " 

And,  without  another  word,  he  sprang  into  the  river, 
partly  wading,  partly  swimming,  and  soon  reached  the  place 
where  the  horse,  restrained  by  one  rein  alone,  swam  in  a 
small  circle,  fretted  by  restraint  and  maddened  b}^  inability 
to  resist. 

"Leave  him  to  me,  —  let  go  your  rein,"  said  Conyers,  as 
he  grasped  the  bridle  close  to  the  bit ;  and  the  animal,  ac- 
cepting the  guidance,  suffered  himself  to  be  led  quietly  till 
he  reached  the  shallow.  Once  there,  he  bounded  wildly  for- 
ward, and,  splashing  through  the  current,  leaped  up  the  bank, 
where  he  was  immediately  caught  by  the  others. 

By  the  time  Conyers  had  gained  the  land,  the  girl  had 
quitted  her  saddle  and  entered  the  cottage,  never  so  much 
as  once  turning  a  look  on  him  who  had  rescued  her.  Tf  he 
could  not  help  feeling  mortified  at  this  show  of  indififerenop, 
he  was  not  less  puzzled  by  the  manner  of  the  others,  wh'>, 
perfectly  careless  of  his  dripping  condition,  discupsed 
amongst  themselves  how  the  bridle  broke,  and  what  might 
have  happened  if  the  leather  had  proved  tougher. 

"It's  always  the  way  with  her,"  muttered  one,  sulkily. 


"\". 


138  BAKRINGTON. 

"  I  told  her  to  ride  the  niateb  in  a  ring-snaffle,  but  she  's  a 
mule  iu  obstinacy  !  She  'd  have  won  easily  —  ay,  with  five 
minutes  to  spare  —  if  she'd  have  crossed  at  Nuusford.  I 
passed  there  last  week  without  wetting  a  girth." 

"She'll  not  thank  you,  young  gentleman,  whoever  you 
are,"  said  the  oldest  of  the  party,  turning  to  Conyers,  "for 
your  gallantry.  She  '11  only  remember  you  as  having  helped 
her  to  lose  a  wager !  " 

"That's  true!  "  cried  another.  "I  never  got  as  much  as 
thank  you  for  catching  her  horse  one  day  at  Lyrath,  though 
it  threw  me  out  of  the  whole  run  afterwards." 
'And  this  was  a  wager,  then?  "  said  Conyers. 
Yes.  An  English  officer  that  is  stopping  at  Sir 
Charles's  said  yesterday  that  nobody  could  ride  from 
Lowe's  Folly  to  Foynes  as  the  crow  flies;  and  four  of  us 
took  him  up  —  twenty- five  pounds  apiece  —  that  Polly  Dill 
would  do  it,  —  and  against  time,  too,  — an  hour  and  forty." 

"On  a  horse  of  mine,"  chimed  in  another, — "Bayther- 
shini" 

"I  must  say  it  does  not  tell  very  well  for  your  chivalry  in 
these  parts,"  said  Conyers,  angrily.  "Could  no  one  be 
found  to  do  the  match  without  risking  a  young  girl's  life 
on  it?" 

A  very  hearty  burst  of  merriment  met  this  speech,  and  the 
elder  of  the  party  rejoined,  — 

"You  must  be  very  new  to  this  country,  or  you'd  not 
have  said  that,  sir.  There  's  not  a  man  in  the  hunt  could 
get  as  much  out  of  a  horse  as  that  girl." 

"Not  to  say,"  added  another,  with  a  sly  laugh,  "that  the 
Englishman  gave  five  to  one  against  her  when  he  heard  she 
was  going  to  ride." 

Disgusted  by  what  he  could  not  but  regard  as  a  most  dis- 
gi-aceful  wager,  Conyers  turned  away,  and  walked  into  the 
house. 

"Go  and  change  your  clothes  as  fast  as  you  can,"  said 
Miss  Barrington,  as  she  met  him  in  the  porch.  "I  am  quite 
provoked  you  should  have  wetted  your  feet  in  such  a  cause." 

It  was  no  time  to  ask  for  explanations ;  and  Conyers  hur- 
ried away  to  his  room,  marvelling  much  at  what  he  had 
heard,  but  even  more  astonished  by  the  attitude  of  cool  and 


BARRINGTON'S  FORD.  139 

easy  indifference  as  to  what  might  have  imperilled  a  human 
life.  He  had  often  heard  of  the  reckless  habits  and  absurd 
extravagances  of  Irish  life,  but  he  fancied  that  they  apper- 
tained to  a  time  long  past,  and  that  society  had  gradually 
assumed  the  tone  and  the  temper  of  the  English.  Then  he 
began  to  wonder  to  what  class  in  life  these  persons  be- 
longed. The  girl,  so  well  as  he  could  see,  was  certainly 
handsome,  and  appeared  ladylike ;  and  yet,  why  had  she  not 
even  by  a  word  acknowledged  the  service  he  rendered  her? 
And  lastl}',  what  could  old  Miss  Barringtou  mean  by  that 
scornful  speech?  These  were  all  great  puzzles  to  him,  and 
like  many  great  puzzles  only  the  more  embarrassing  the 
more  they  were  thought  over. 

The  sound  of  voices  drew  him  now  to  the  window,  and  he 
saw  one  of  the  riding-party  in  converse  with  Darby  at  the 
door.  They  talked  in  a  low  tone  together,  and  laughed; 
and  then  the  horseman,  chucking  a  half-crown  towards 
Darby,  said  aloud,  — 

"  And  tell  her  that  we  '11  send  the  boat  down  for  her  as  soon 
as  we  get  back." 

Darby  touched  his  hat  gratefully,  and  was  about  to  retire 
within  the  house  when  he  caught  sight  of  Conyers  at  the 
window.  He  waited  till  the  rider  had  turned  the  angle  of 
the  road,  and  then  said,  — 

"That 's  Mr.  St.  George.  They  used  to  call  him  the 
Slasher,  he  killed  so  many  in  duels  long  ago;  but  he  *s  like 
a  lamb  now." 

"And  the  young  lady  ?  " 

"The  young  lady  is  it! "  said  Darby,  with  the  air  of  one 
not  exactly  concurring  in  the  designation.  "She's  old 
Dill's  daughter,  the  doctor  that  attends  you." 

"What  was  it  all  about?  " 

"It  was  a  bet  they  made  with  an  English  captain  this 
morning  that  she  'd  ride  from  Lowe's  Folly  to  the  Gap  in  an 
hour  and  a  half.  The  Captain  took  a  hundred  on  it,  because 
he  thought  she'd  have  to  go  round  by  the  bridge;  and  they 
pretinded  the  same,  for  they  gave  all  kinds  of  directions 
about  clearing  the  carts  out  of  the  road,  for  it 's  market-day 
at  Thomastown ;  and  away  went  the  Captain  as  hard  as  he 
could,  to  be  at  the  bridge  first,  to  '  time  her,'  as  she  passed. 


140  BARRINGTON. 

But  he  has  won  the  money !  "  sighed  he,  for  the  thought  of 
so  much  Irish  coin  going  into  a  Saxon  pocket  completely 
overcame  him;  "and  what's  more,"  added  he,  "the  gentle- 
man says  it  was  all  your  fault !  " 

"All  my  fault!"  cried  Couyers,  indignantly.  "All  my 
fault!  Do  they  imagine  that  I  either  knew  or  cared  for  their 
trumpery  wager!  I  saw  a  girl  struggling  in  a  danger  from 
which  not  one  of  them  had  the  manliness  to  rescue  her  I  " 

"Oh,  take  my  word  for  it,"  burst  in  Darby,  "it's  not 
courage  they  want!  " 

"Then  it  is  something  far  better  than  even  courage,  and 
I'd  like  to  tell  them  so." 

And  he  turned  away  as  much  disgusted  with  Darby  as 
with  the  rest  of  his  countrymen.  Now,  all  the  anger  that 
filled  his  breast  was  not  in  reality  provoked  by  the  want  of 
gallantry  that  he  condemned ;  a  portion,  at  least,  was  owing 
to  the  marvellous  indifference  the  young  lady  had  manifested 
to  her  preserver.  Was  peril  such  an  every-day  incident  of 
Irish  life  that  no  one  cared  for  it,  or  was  gratitude  a  quality 
not  cultivated  in  this  strange  land  ?  Such  were  the  puzzles 
that  tormented  him  as  he  descended  to  the  drawing-room. 

As  he  opened  the  door,  he  heard  Miss  Barrington's  voice, 
in  a  tone  which  he  rightly  guessed  to  be  reproof,  and  caught 
the  words,  "Just  as  unwise  as  it  is  unbecoming,"  when  he 
entered. 

"Mr.  Conyers,  Miss  Dill,"  said  the  old  lady,  stiffly;  "the 
young  gentleman  who  saved  you,  the  heroine  you  rescued! " 
The  two  allocutions  wei-e  delivered  with  a  gesture  towards 
each.  To  cover  a  moment  of  extreme  awkwardness,  Con- 
yers blundered  out  something  about  being  too  happy,  and  a 
slight  service,  and  a  hope  of  no  ill  consequences  to  herself. 

"Have  no  fears  on  that  score,  sir,"  broke  in  Miss  Dinah. 
"Manly  young  ladies  are  the  hardiest  things  in  nature. 
They  are  as  insensible  to  danger  as  they  are  to  —  "  She 
stopped,  and  grew  crimson,  partly  from  anger  and  partly 
from  the  unspoken  word  that  had  almost  escaped  her. 

"Nay,  madam,"  said  Polly,  quietly,  "I  am  really  very 
much  'ashamed.'"  And,  simple  as  the  words  were.  Miss 
Barrington  felt  the  poignancy  of  their  application  to  herself, 
and  her  hand  trembled  over  the  embroidery  she  was  working. 


BARRIXGTOX'S  FORD.  141 

She  tried  to  appear  calm,  but  in  vain;  her  color  came  and 
went,  and  the  stitches,  in  spite  of  her,  grew  irregular;  so 
that,  after  a  moment's  struggle,  she  pushed  the  frame  awaj, 
and  left  the  room.  While  this  very  brief  and  painful  inci- 
dent was  passing,  Conyers  was  wondering  to  himself  how 
the  dashing  horsewoman,  with  flushed  cheek,  flashing  eye, 
and  dishevelled  hair,  could  possibly  be  the  quiet,  demure 
girl,  with  a  downcast  look,  and  almost  Quaker-like  sim- 
plicity of  demeanor.  It  is  but  fair  to  add,  though  he  him- 
self did  not  discover  it,  that  the  contributions  of  Miss 
Dinah's  wardrobe,  to  which  poor  Polly  was  reduced  for 
dress,  were  not  exactly  of  a  nature  to  heighten  her  personal 
attractions;  nor  did  a  sort  of  short  jacket,  and  a  very  much 
beflounced  petticoat,  set  off  the  girl's  figure  to  advantage. 
Polly  never  raised  her  eyes  from  the  work  she  was  sewing  as 
Miss  Barrington  withdrew,  but,  in  a  low,  gentle  voice,  said, 
*'It  was  very  good  of  you,  sir,  to  come  to  my  rescue,  but 
you  mustn't  thiuk  ill  of  my  countrymen  for  not  having 
done  so;  they  had  given  their  word  of  honor  not  to  lead 
a  fence,  nor  open  a  sate,  nor,  in  fact,  aid  me  in  any 
way." 

"So  that,  if  they  could  win  their  wager,  your  peril  was  of 
little  matter,"  broke  he  in. 

She  gave  a  little  low,  quiet  laugh,  perhaps  as  much  at  the 
energy  as  at  the  words  of  his  speech.  "After  all,"  said  she, 
"a  wetting  is  no  great  misfortune;  the  worst  punishment 
of  my  offence  was  one  that  I  never  contemplated." 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  he. 

"Doing  penance  for  it  in  this  costume,"  said  she,  draw- 
ing out  the  stiff  folds  of  an  old  brocaded  silk,  and  display- 
ing a  splendor  of  flowers  that  might  have  graced  a  peacock's 
tail ;  '■  I  never  so  much  as  dreamed  of  this !  " 

There  was  something  so  comic  in  the  way  she  conve3'ed 
her  distress  that  he  laughed  outright.  She  joined  him ;  and 
they  were  at  once  at  their  ease  together. 

"I  think  Miss  Barrington  called  you  Mr.  Conyers,"  said 
she;  "and  if  so,  I  have  the  happiness  of  feeling  that  my 
gratitude  is  bestowed  where  already  there  has  been  a  large 
instalment  of  the  sentiment.  It  is  you  who  have  been  so 
generous  and  so  kind  to  nn^  poor  brother." 


142  BARRINGTON. 

*'Has  he  told  you,  then,  what  we  have  been  planning 
together?" 

"He  has  told  me  all  that  you  had  planned  out  for  him," 
said  she,  with  a  very  gracious  smile,  which  very  slightly 
colored  her  cheek,  and  gave  great  softness  to  her  expression. 
"My  only  fear  was  that  the  poor  boy  should  have  lost  his 
head  completely,  and  perhaps  exaggerated  to  himself  your 
intentions  towards  him;  for,  after  all,  I  can  scarcely 
think  —  " 

"  What  is  it  that  you  can  scarcely  think  ?  "  asked  he,  after 
a  long  pause. 

"Not  to  say,"  resumed  she,  unheeding  his  question,  "that 
I  cannot  imagine  how  this  came  about.  What  could  have 
led  him  to  tell  you  —  a  perfect  stranger  to  him  —  his  hopes 
and  fears,  his  struggles  and  his  sorrows?  How  could  you 
—  by  what  magic  did  you  inspire  him  with  that  trustful 
confidence  which  made  him  open  his  whole  heart  before  you? 
Poor  Tom,  who  never  before  had  any  confessor  than 
myself!." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  how  it  came  about?  It  was  talking  of 
you  !  " 

"Of  me!  talking  of  me!"  and  her  cheek  now  flushed 
more  deeply. 

"Yes,  we  had  rambled  on  over  fifty  themes,  not  one  of 
which  seemed  to  attach  him  strongly,  till,  in  some  passing 
allusion  to  his  own  cares  and  difficulties,  he  mentioned  one 
who  has  never  ceased  to  guide  and  comfort  him ;  who  shared 
not  alone  his  sorrows,  but  his  hard  hours  of  labor,  and 
turned  away  from  her  own  pleasant  paths  to  tread  the  dreary 
road  of  toil  beside  him." 

"I  think  he  might  have  kept  all  this  to  himself,"  said 
she,  with  a  tone  of  almost  severity. 

"How  could  he?  How  was  it  possible  to  tell  me  his 
story,  and  not  touch  upon  what  imparted  the  few  tints  of 
better  fortune  that  lighted  it?  I  'm  certain,  besides,  that 
there  is  a  sort  of  pride  in  revealing  how  much  of  sympathy 
and  affection  we  have  derived  from  those  better  than  our- 
selves, and  I  could  see  that  he  was  actually  vain  of  what 
you  had  done  for  him." 

"I  repeat,  he  might  have  kept  this  to  himself.     But  let  us 


BARRLN^GTOX'S  FORD.  143 

leave  this  matter;  and  now  tell  me, — for  I  own  I  can 
hardly  trust  my  poor  brother's  triumphant  tale,  —  tell  me 
seriously  what  the  plan  is  ?  " 

Conyers  hesitated  for  a  few  seconds,  embarrassed  how  to 
avoid  mention  of  himself,  or  to  allude  but  passingly  to  his 
own  share  in  the  project.  At  last,  as  though  deciding  to 
dash  boldly  into  the  question,  he  said,  "I  told  him,  if  he  'd 
go  out  to  India,  I  'd  give  him  such  a  letter  to  my  father 
that  his  fortune  would  be  secure.  My  governor  is  some- 
thing of  a  swell  out  there,"  —  and  he  reddened,  partly  in 
shame,  partly  in  pride,  as  he  tried  to  disguise  his  feeling 
by  an  affectation  of  ease,  —  "and  that  with  him,  for  a  friend, 
Tom  would  be  certain  of  success.  You  smile  at  my  confi- 
dence, but  you  don't  know  India,  and  what  scores  of  fine 
things  are  —  so  to  say  —  to  be  had  for  asking ;  and  although 
doctoring  is  all  very  well,  there  are  fifty  other  ways  to 
make  a  fortune  faster.  Tom  could  be  a  Receiver  of  Revenue ; 
he  might  be  a  Political  Resident.  You  don't  know  what 
they  get.  There  's  a  fellow  at  Baroda  has  four  thousand 
rupees  a  month,  and  I  don't  know  how  much  more  for  dak- 
money." 

"I  can't  help  smiling,"  said  she,  "at  the  notion  of  poor 
Tom  in  a  palanquin.  But,  seriously,  sir,  is  all  this  pos- 
sible? or  might  it  not  be  feared  that  your  father,  when  he 
came  to  see  my  brother  —  who,  with  many  a  worthy  quality, 
has  not  much  to  prepossess  in  his  favor,  —  when,  I  say,  he 
came  to  see  your  protege^  is  it  not  likely  that  he  might  — 
might  —  hold  him  more  cheaply  than  you  do?  " 

"Not  when  he  presents  a  letter  from  me;  not  when  it's  I 
that  have  taken  him  up.  You  '11  believe  me,  perhaps,  when 
I  tell  you  what  happened  when  I  was  but  ten  years  old. 
We  w^ere  up  at  Rangoon,  in  the  Hills,  when  a  dreadful  hur- 
ricane swept  over  the  country,  destroj'ing  everything  before 
it;  rice,  paddy,  the  indigo-crop,  all  were  carried  awaj',  and 
the  poor  people  left  totally  destitute.  A  subscription-list 
was  handed  about  amongst  the  British  residents,  to  afford 
some  aid  in  the  calamity,  and  it  was  my  tutor,  a  native 
Moonshee,  who  went  about  to  collect  the  sums.  One 
morning  he  came  back  somewhat  disconsolate  at  his  want 
of  success.     A  payment  of  eight  thousand  rupees  had  to  be 


144  BARKINGTON. 

made  for  grain  on  that  day,  and  he  had  not,  as  he  hoped 
and  expected,  the  money  ready.  He  talked  freely  to  me 
of  his  disappointment,  so  that,  at  last,  my  feelings  being 
worked  upon,  I  took  up  my  pen  and  wrote  down  my  name 
on  the  list,  with  the  sum  of  eight  thousand  rupees  to  it. 
Shocked  at  what  he  regarded  as  an  act  of  levity,  he  carried 
the  paper  to  my  father,  who  at  once  said,  '  Fred  wrote  it; 
his  name  shall  not  be  dishonored;'  and  the  money  was 
paid.  I  ask  you,  now,  am  I  reckoning  too  much  on  one  who 
could  do  that,  and  for  a  mere  child  too?  " 

"That  was  nobly  done,"  said  she,  with  enthusiasm;  and 
though  Conyers  went  on,  with  warmth,  to  tell  more  of  his 
father's  generous  nature,  she  seemed  less  to  listen  than  to 
follow  out  some  thread  of  her  own  reflections.  Was  it 
some  speculation  as  to  the  temperament  the  son  of  such  a 
father  might  possess?  or  was  it  some  pleasurable  revery 
regarding  one  who  might  do  any  extravagance  and  yet  be 
forgiven?  My  reader  may  guess  this,  perhaps,  — I  cannot. 
"Whatever  her  speculation,  it  lent  a  very  charming  expres- 
sion to  her  features,  —  that  air  of  gentle,  tranquil  happiness 
we  like  to  believe  the  lot  of  guileless,  simple  natures. 

Conyers,  like  many  young  men  of  his  order,  was  very 
fond  of  talking  of  himself,  of  his  ways,  his  habits,  and  his 
temper,  and  she  listened  to  him  very  prettily,  — so  prettily, 
indeed,  that  when  Darby,  slyly  peeping  in  at  the  half- 
opened  door,  announced  that  the  boat  had  come,  he  felt 
well  inclined  to  pitch  the  messenger  into  the  stream. 

"I  must  go  and  say  good-bye  to  Miss  Barriugton,"  said 
Polly,  rising.  "I  hope  that  this  rustling  finery  will  impart 
some  dignity  to  my  demeanor."  And  drawing  wide  the 
massive  folds,  she  made  a  very  deep  courtesy,  throwing 
back  her  head  haughtily  as  she  resumed  her  height  in 
admirable  imitation  of  a  bygone  school  of  manners. 

"Very  well, — very  well,  indeed!  Quite  as  like  what  it 
is  meant  for  as  is  Miss  Polly  Dill  for  the  station  she  coun- 
terfeits !  "  said  Miss  Dinah,  as,  throwing  wide  the  door,  she 
stood  before  them. 

"I  am  overwhelmed  by  your  flattery,  madam,"  said  Polly, 
who,  though  very  red,  lost  none  of  her  self-possession;  "but 
I  feel  that,  like  the  traveller  who  tried  on  Charlemagne's 


BARRINGTON'S  FORD. 


145 


armor,  I  am  far  more   equal  to   combat   in  my  every-day 
clothes." 

"Do  not  enter  the  lists  with  me  in  either,"  said  Miss 
Dinah,  with  a  look  of  the  haughtiest  insolence.  "Mr. 
Conyers,  will  you  let  me  show  you  my  flower-garden  ?  " 


"Delighted!     But  I  will  first  see  Miss  Dill  to  her  boat." 
"As  you  please,  sir,"  said  the  old  lady;  and  she  with- 
drew with  a  proud  toss  of  her  head  that  was  very  unmistak- 
able in  its  import. 

"What  a  severe  correction  that  was!"  said  Polly,  half 
gayly,  as  she  went  along,  leaning  on  his  arm.  "And  you 
know  that,  whatever  my  offending,  there  was  no  mimicry 

VOL.    I. 10 


146  BARRINGTON. 

in  it.  I  was  simply  tbiuking  of  some  great-graudmotber 
wbo  bad,  perbaps,  captivated  tbe  beroes  of  Dettiugeu ;  aud, 
talking  of  beroes,  bow  courageous  of  you  to  come  to  my 
rescue ! " 


AVas  it  tbat  ber  arm  only  trembled  sligbtly,  or  did  it 
really  press  gently  ou  bis  own  as  sbe  said  tbis?  Certainly 
Conyers  inclined  to  tbe  latter  bypotbesis,  for  be  drew  ber 
more  closely  to  bis  side,  and  said,  "  Of  course  I  stood  by 
you.     Sbe  was  all  in  tbe  wrong,  and  I  mean  to  tell  ber  so." 

"Not  if  you  would  serve  me,"  said  sbe,  eagerly.  "I 
bave  paid  tbe  penalty,  and  I  strongly  object  to  be  sen- 
tenced again.     Ob,  bere  's  tbe  boat!  " 

"Wby  it's  a  mere  skiff.  Are  you  safe  to  trust  yourself 
in  sucb  a  tbing?"  asked  be,  for  tbe  canoe-sbaped  "cot" 
was  new  to  bim. 

"Of  course!"  said  sbe,  ligbtly  stepping  in.  "Tbere  is 
even  room  for  anotber."  Tben,  bastily  cbanging  ber  tbeme, 
sbe  asked,  "  May  I  tell  poor  Tom  wbat  you  bave  said  to  me, 
or  is  it  just  possible  tbat  you  will  come  up  one  of  tbese  days 
and  see  us  ?  " 

"  If  I  migbt  be  permitted  —  " 

"  Too  mucb  bonor  for  us !  "  said  sbe,  with  such  a  capital 
imitation  of  bis  voice  and  manner  that  he  bui'st  into  a  laugh 
in  spite  of  himself. 

"Mayhap  Miss  Barnngton  was  not  so  far  wrong:  after 
all,  you  are  a  terrible  mimic." 

"Is  it  a  promise,  tben?  Am  I  to  say  to  my  brother  you 
will  come?"  said  she,  seriously. 

"Faithfully!  "  said  he,  waving  his  hand,  for  the  boatmen 
had  already  got  tbe  skiff  under  weigh,  and  were  sending 
her  along  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow. 

Polly  turned  and  kissed  her  band  to  him,  and  Conyers 
muttered  something  over  his  own  stupidity  for  not  being 
beside  her,  and  tben  turned  sulkily  back  towards  tbe  cottage. 
A  few  hours  ago  and  he  bad  thought  he  could  have  passed 
bis  life  here;  tbere  was  a  charm  in  tbe  unbroken  tranquillity 
tbat  seemed  to  satisfy  tbe  longings  of  his  heart,  and  now, 
all  of  a  sudden,  tbe  place  appeared  desolate.  Have  you 
never,  dear  reader,  felt,  in  gazing  on  some  fair  landscape, 
with  mountain  and  stream  and  forest  before  you,  that  the 


BARRINGTON'S  FORD.  147 

scene  was  perfect,  wanting  nothing  in  form  or  tone  or 
color,  till  suddenly  a  ilash  of  strong  sunlight  from  behind  a 
cloud  lit  up  some  spot  with  a  glorious  lustre,  to  fade  away 
as  quickly  into  the  cold  tint  it  had  worn  before?  Have  you 
not  felt  then,  I  say,  that  the  picture  had  lost  its  marvellous 
attraction,  and  that  the  very  soul  of  its  beauty  had  de- 
parted ?  In  vain  you  try  to  recall  the  past  impression ;  your 
memory  will  mourn  over  the  lost,  and  refuse  to  be  com- 
forted. And  so  it  is  often  in  life:  the  momentary  charm 
that  came  unexpectedly  can  become  all  in  all  to  our  imagi- 
nations, and  its  departure  leave  a  blank,  like  a  death, 
behind  it. 

Nor  was  he  altogether  satisfied  with  Miss  Barrington. 
The  "old  woman"  —  alas!  for  his  gallantry,  it  was  so  that 
he  called  her  to  himself  —  was  needlessly  severe.  Why 
should  a  mere  piece  of  harmless  levity  be  so  visited  ?  At 
all  events,  he  felt  certain  that  he  himself  would  have 
shown  a  more  generous  spirit.  Indeed,  when  Polly  had 
quizzed  him,  he  took  it  all  good-naturedl}',  and  by  thus 
turning  his  thoughts  to  his  natural  goodness  and  the  merits 
of  his  character,  he  at  length  grew  somewhat  more  well- 
disposed  to  the  world  at  large.  He  knew  he  was  naturally 
forgiving,  and  he  felt  he  was  very  generous.  Scores  of 
fellows,  bred  up  as  he  was,  would  have  been  perfectly 
unendurable;  they  would  have  presumed  on  their  position, 
and  done  this,  that,  and  t'  other.  Not  one  of  them  would 
have  dreamed  of  taking  up  a  poor  ungainly  bumpkin,  a 
country  doctor's  cub,  and  making  a  man  of  him;  not  one  of 
them  would  have  had  the  heart  to  conceive  or  the  energ}'  to 
carry  out  such  a  project.  And  yet  this  he  would  do,  Polly 
herself,  sceptical  as  she  was,  should  be  brought  to  admit 
tliat  he  had  kept  his  word.  Selfish  fellows  would  limit 
their  plans  to  their  own  engagements,  and  weak  fellows 
could  be  laughed  out  of  their  intentions;  but  he  flattered 
himself  that  he  was  neither  of  these,  and  it  was  really  for- 
tunate that  the  world  should  see  how  little  spoiled  a  fine 
nature  could  be,  though  surrounded  with  all  the  temptations 
that  are  supposed  to  be  dangerous. 

In  this  happy  frame  —  for  he  was  now  happy  —  he  re- 
entered  the   cottage.      "What  a  coxcomb!  "   will  say  my 


148  BAllRIXGTON. 

reader.  Be  it  so.  But  it  was  a  coxcomb  who  wanted  to  be 
soinethiug  better. 

Miss  Barriugton  met  him  in  the  porch,  not  a  trace  of  her 
late  displeasure  on  her  face,  but  with  a  pleasant  smile  she 
said,  "I  have  just  got  a  few  lines  from  my  brother.  He 
writes  in  excellent  spirits,  for  he  has  gained  a  lawsuit; 
not  a  very  important  case,  but  it  puts  us  in  a  position  to 
carry  out  a  little  project  we  are  full  of.  He  will  be  here  by 
Saturday,  and  hopes  to  bring  with  him  an  old  and  valued 
friend,  the  Attornej^-General,  to  spend  a  few  days  with  us. 
I  am,  therefore,  able  to  promise  you  an  ample  recompense 
for  all  the  loneliness  of  your  present  life.  I  have  cautiously 
abstained  from  telling  my  brother  who  you  are ;  I  keep  the 
delightful  surprise  for  the  moment  of  your  meeting.  Your 
name,  though  associated  with  some  sad  memories,  will 
bring  him  back  to  the  happiest  period  of  his  life." 

Conyers  made  some  not  very  intelligible  reply  about  his 
reluctance  to  impose  himself  on  them  at  such  a  time,  but 
she  stopped  him  with  a  good-humored  smile,  and  said,  — 

"Your  father's  son  should  know  that  where  a  Barriugton 
lived  he  had  a  home,  —  not  to  say  you  have  already  paid 
some  of  the  tribute  of  this  homeliness,  and  seen  me  very 
cross  and  ill-tempered.  Well,  let  us  not  speak  of  that  now. 
I  have  3'our  word  to  remain  here."  And  she  left  him  to 
attend  to  her  household  cares,  while  he  sti'olled  into  the 
garden,  half  amused,  half  embarrassed  by  all  the  strange 
and  new  interests  that  had  grown  up  so  suddenly  around 
him. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

AN   EXPLORING   EXPEDITION. 

Whether  from  simple  caprice,  or  that  Lady  Cobham  desired 
to  mark  her  disapprobation  of  Polly  Dill's  share  in  the  late 
wager,  is  uot  open  to  me  to  say,  but  the  festivities  at  Cob- 
ham  were  not,  on  that  day,  graced  or  enlivened  by  her  pi-es- 
ence.  If  the  comments  on  her  absence  were  brief,  they  were 
pungent,  and  some  wise  reflections,  too,  were  uttered  as  to 
the  dangers  that  must  inevitably  attend  all  attempts  to  lift 
people  into  a  sphere  above  their  own.  Poor  human  nature ! 
that  unluck}^  culprit  who  is  flogged  for  everything  and  for 
everybody,  bore  the  brunt  of  these  severities,  and  it  was 
declared  that  Poll}^  had  done  what  any  other  girl  "  in  her 
rank  of  life  "  might  have  done ;  and  this  being  settled,  the 
company  went  to  luncheon,  their  appetites  none  the  worse 
for  the  small  auto-da-fe  they  had  just  celebrated. 

"You'd  have  lost  your  money.  Captain,"  whispered 
Ambrose  Bushe  to  Stapylton,  as  they  stood  talking  together 
in  a  window  recess,  ' '  if  that  gu'l  had  only  taken  the  river 
three  hundred  yards  higher  up.  Even  as  it  was,  she  'd  have 
breasted  her  horse  at  the  bank  if  the  bridle  had  not  given 
way.     I  suppose  you  have  seen  the  place?" 

"  I  regret  to  say  I  have  not.  They  tell  me  it 's  one  of  the 
strongest  rapids  in  the  river." 

"  Let  me  describe  it  to  you,"  replied  he ;  and  at  once  set 
about  a  picture  in  which  certainly  no  elements  of  peril  were 
forgotten,  and  all  the  dangers  of  rocks  and  rapids  were  given 
with  due  emphasis.  Stapylton  seemed  to  listen  with  fitting 
attention,  throwing  out  the  suitable  "Indeed!  is  it  possi- 
ble !  "  and  such-like  interjections,  his  mind,  however,  by  no 
means  absorbed  by  the  narrative,  but  dwelling  solely  on  a 
chance  name  that  had  dropped  from  the  narrator. 


150  BARRINGTON. 

"  You  called  the  place  '  Barrington's  Ford,' "  said  he,  at 
last.     "Who  is  Barrington  ?  " 

"As  good  a  gentleman  by  blood  and  descent  as  any  in 
this  room,  but  now  reduced  to  keep  a  little  wayside  inn,  — 
the  '  Fisherman's  Home,'  it  is  called.  All  come  of  a  spend- 
thrift son,  who  went  out  to  India,  and  ran  through  every 
acre  of  the  property  before  he  died." 

"  What  a  strange  vicissitude!  And  is  the  old  man  much 
broken  by  it  ?  " 

"  Some  would  say  he  was  ;  my  opinion  is,  that  he  bears  up 
wonderfully.  Of  course,  to  me,  he  never  makes  any  men- 
tion of  the  past ;  but  while  my  father  lived,  he  would  fre- 
quently talk  to  him  over  bygones,  and  liked  nothing  better 
than  to  speak  of  his  son,  Mad  George  as  they  called  him, 
and  tell  all  his  wildest  exploits  and  most  harebrained 
achievements.  But  you  have  served  3'ourself  in  India. 
Have  3'ou  never  heard  of  George  Barrington  ?  " 

Stapylton  shook  his  head,  and  dryly  added  that  India  was 
very  large,  and  that  even  in  one  Presidency  a  man  might 
never  hear  what  went  on  in  another. 

"Well,  this  fellow  made  noise  enough  to  be  heard  even 
over  here.  He  married  a  native  woman,  and  he  either  shook 
off  his  English  allegiance,  or  was  suspected  of  doing  so.  At 
all  events,  he  got  himself  into  trouble  that  finished  him. 
It's  a  long  complicated  story,  that  I  have  never  heard 
correctly.  The  upshot  was,  however,  old  Barrington  was 
sold  out  stick  and  stone,  and  if  it  was  n't  for  the  ale-house 
he  might  starve." 

"And  his  former  friends  and  associates,  do  they  rally 
round  him  and  cheer  him  ?  " 

"Not  a  great  deal.  Perhaps,  however,  that's  as  much 
his  fault  as  theirs.  He  is  very  proud,  and  very  quick  to 
resent  anything  like  consideration  for  his  changed  condition. 
Sir  Charles  would  have  him  up  here,  —  he  has  tried  it  scores 
of  times,  but  all  in  vain  ;  and  now  he  is  left  to  two  or  three 
of  his  neighbors,  the  doctor  and  an  old  half-pay  major,  who 
lives  on  the  river,  and  I  believe  really  he  never  sees  any  one 
else.  Old  M'Cormick  knew  George  Barrington  well;  not 
that  they  were  friends,  —  two  men  less  alike  never  lived  ;  but 
that 's  enough  to  make  poor  Peter  fond  of  talking  to  him. 


AN  EXPLORING  EXPEDITION.  151 

and  telling  all  about  some  lawsuits  George  left  him  for  a 
legacy." 

"This  Major  that  you  speak  of,  does  he  visit  here?  I 
don't  remember  to  have  seen  him." 

"M'Cormiek!"  said  the  other,  laughing.  "No,  he's  a 
miserly  old  fellow  that  has  n't  a  coat  fit  to  go  out  in,  and 
he 's  no  loss  to  any  one.  It 's  as  much  as  old  Peter  Bar- 
rington  can  do  to  bear  his  shabby  ways,  and  his  cranky 
temper,  but  he  puts  up  with  everything  because  he  knew 
his  son  George.  That 's  quite  enough  for  old  Peter ;  and 
if  you  were  to  go  over  to  the  cottage,  and  say,  '  I  met 
your  son  up  in  Bombay  or  Madras ;  we  were  quartered 
together  at  Ram-something-or-other,'  he  'd  tell  you  the  place 
was  your  own,  to  stop  at  as  long  as  you  liked,  and  your 
home  for  life." 

"Indeed!"  said  Stapylton,  affecting  to  feel  interested, 
while  he  followed  out  the  course  of  his  own  thoughts. 

"Not  that  the  Major  could  do  even  that  much!"  con- 
tinued Bushe,  who  now  believed  that  he  had  found  an  eager 
listener.  "There  was  only  one  thing  in  this  world  he'd 
like  to  talk  about,  —  Walcheren.  Go  how  or  when  3'ou  liked, 
or  where  or  for  what,  —  no  matter,  it  was  Walcheren  you  'd 
get,  and  nothing  else." 

"  Somewhat  tiresome  this,  I  take  it !  " 

"  Tiresome  is  no  name  for  it !  And  I  don't  know  a 
stronger  proof  of  old  Peter's  love  for  his  son's  memory, 
than  that,  for  the  sake  of  hearing  about  him,  he  can  sit  and 
listen  to  the  '  expedition.' " 

There  was  a  half-unconscious  mimicry  in  the  way  he  gave 
the  last  word  that  showed  how  the  Major's  accents  had 
eaten  their  way  into  his  sensibilities. 

"  Your  portrait  of  this  Major  is  not  tempting,"  said 
Stapylton,  smiling. 

"Why  would  it?  He's  eighteen  or  twenty  years  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  I  never  heard  that  he  said  a  kind  word 
or  did  a  generous  act  by  any  one.  But  I  get  cross  if  I  talk 
of  him.  Where  are  you  going  this  morning?  Will  you 
come  up  to  the  Long  Callows  and  look  at  the  yearlings? 
The  Admiral  is  very  proud  of  his  young  stock,  and  he  thinks 
he  has  some  of  the  best  bone  and  blood  in  Ireland  there  at 
this  moment." 


152  BAKRINGTON. 

"Thanks,  no;  I  have  some  notion  of  a  long  walk  this 
morning.  1  take  shame  to  myself  for  having  seen  so  little 
of  the  country  here  since  I  came  that  I  mean  to  repair  my 
fault  and  go  off  on  a  sort  of  voyage  of  discovery." 

"  Follow  the  river  from  Brown's  Barn  down  to  Inistioge, 
and  if  you  ever  saw  anything  prettier  I'm  a  Scotchman." 
And  with  this  appalling  alternative,  Mr.  Bushe  walked 
away,  and  left  the  other  to  his  own  guidance. 

Perhaps  Stapylton  is  not  the  companion  my  reader  would 
care  to  stroll  with,  even  along  the  grassy  path  beside  that 
laughing  river,  with  spray-like  larches  bending  overhead, 
and  tender  water-lilies  streaming,  like  pennants,  in  the  fast- 
running  current.  It  may  be  that  he  or  she  would  prefer 
some  one  more  impressionable  to  the  woodland  beauty  of 
the  spot,  and  more  disposed  to  enjoy  the  tranquil  loveliness 
around  him ;  for  it  is  true  the  swarthy  soldier  strode  on, 
little  heeding  the  picturesque  effects  which  made  everj' 
succeeding  reach  of  the  river  a  subject  for  a  painter.  He 
was  bent  on  finding  out  where  M'Cormick  lived,  and  on 
making  the  acquaintance  of  that  bland  individual. 

"  That 's  the  Major's,  and  there 's  himself,"  said  a  country- 
man, as  he  pointed  to  a  very  shabbily  dressed  old  man 
hoeing  his  cabbages  in  a  dilapidated  bit  of  garden-ground, 
but  who  was  so  absorbed  in  his  occupation  as  not  to  notice 
the  approach  of  a  stranger. 

"  Am  I  taking  too  great  a  liberty,"  said  Stapylton,  as  he 
raised  his  hat,  "if  I  ask  leave  to  follow  the  river  path 
through  this  lovely  spot  ?  " 

''Eh  —  what?  —  how  did  you  come?  You  didn't  pass 
round  by  the  young  wheat,  eh?"  asked  M'Cormick,  in  his 
most  querulous  voice. 

"  I  came  along  by  the  margin  of  the  river." 

"That's  just  it!"  broke  in  the  other.  "There's  no 
keeping  them  out  that  way.  But  I  '11  have  a  dog  as  sure  as 
my  name  is  Dan.  I'll  have  a  bull-terrier  that'll  tackle  the 
first  of  you  that's  trespassing  there." 

"I  fancy  I'm  addressing  Major  M'Cormick,"  said 
Stapylton,  never  noticing  this  rude  speech;  "and  if  so,  I 
will  ask  him  to  accord  me  the  privilege  of  a  brother-soldier, 
and  let  me  make  myself  known  to  him,  —  Captain  Stapylton, 
of  the  Prince's  Hussars." 


AN  EXPLORING  EXPEDITION.  153 

"By  the  wars!"  muttered  old  Dan;  the  exclamation 
being  a  favorite  one  with  him  to  express  astonishment 
at  any  startling  event.  Then  recovering  himself,  he  added, 
"  I  think  I  heard  there  were  three  or  four  of  ye  stopping  up 
there  at  Cobham ;  but  I  never  go  out  myself  anywhere.  I 
live  very  retired  down  here." 

"I  am  not  surprised  at  that.  When  an  old  soldier  can 
nestle  down  in  a  lovely  nook  like  this,  he  has  very  little 
to  regret  of  what  the  world  is  busy  about  outside  it." 

"And  they  are  all  ruining  themselves,  besides,"  said 
M'Cormick,  with  one  of  his  malicious  grins.  "There  's  not 
a  man  in  this  county  is  n't  mortgaged  over  head  and  ears.  I 
can  count  them  all  on  my  fingers  for  3'ou,  and  tell  what  they 
have  to  live  on." 

"You  amaze  me,"  said  Stapylton,  with  a  show  of  interest. 

"And  the  women  are  as  bad  as  the  men:  nothing  fine 
enough  for  them  to  wear;  no  jewels  rich  enough  to  put  on! 
Did  you  ever  hear  them  mention  vie  ?  "  asked  he,  suddenly, 
as  though  the  thought  flashed  upon  him  that  he  had  himself 
been  exposed  to  comment  of  a  very  different  kind. 

"They  told  me  of  an  old  retired  officer,  who  owned  a 
most  picturesque  cottage,  and  said,  if  I  remember  aright, 
that  the  view  from  one  of  the  windows  was  accounted  one 
of  the  most  perfect  bits  of  river  landscape  in  the  kingdom." 

"Just  the  same  as  where  you  're  standing,  — no  difference 
in  life,"  said  M'Cormick,  who  was  not  to  be  seduced  by 
the  flattery  into  any  demonstration  of  hospitality. 

"I  cannot  imagine  anything  finer,"  said  Stapylton,  as  he 
threw  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  seemed  really  to 
revel  in  enjoyment  of  the  scene.  "One  might,  perhaps,  if 
disposed  to  be  critical,  ask  for  a  little  opening  in  that 
copse  yonder.  I  suspect  we  should  get  a  peep  at  the  bold 
cliff  whose  summit  peers  above  the  tree- tops." 

"You'd  see  the  quarry,  to  be  sure,"  croaked  out  the 
Major,  "if  that's  what  you  mean." 

"May  I  offer  you  a  cigar?"  said  Stapj^ltou,  whose  self- 
possession  was  pushed  somewhat  hard  by  the  other.  "  An 
old  campaigner  is  sure  to  be  a  smoker." 

'•  I  am  not.  I  never  had  a  pipe  in  my  mouth  since  "VYal- 
cberen." 


154  BARRLNGTON. 

"Since  Walcheren!  You  dou't  say  that  j'ou  are  an  old 
Walcberen  man  ? " 

"I  am,  indeed.  I  was  in  the  second  battalion  of  the  103d, 
—  the  Duke's  Fusiliers,  if  ever  you  heard  of  them." 

"Heard  of  them!  The  whole  world  has  heard  of  them; 
but  I  didn't  know  there  was  a  man  of  that  splendid  corps 
surviving.  Why,  they  lost  —  let  me  see  —  they  lost  every 
officer  but  — "  Here  a  vigorous  effort  to  keep  his  cigar 
alight  interposed,  and  kept  him  occupied  for  a  few  seconds. 
"How  many  did  you  bring  out  of  action,  — four  was  it,  or 
five?     I  'm  certain  you  had  n't  six!  " 

"We  were  the  same  as  the  Buffs,  man  for  man,"  said 
M'Cormick. 

"The  poor  Buffs! — very  gallant  fellows  too!"  sighed 
Stapylton.  "I  have  always  maintained,  and  I  always  will 
maintain,  that  the  Walcheren  expedition,  though  not  a 
success,  Avas  the  proudest  achievement  of  the  British  arms." 

"The  shakes  always  began  after  sunrise,  and  in  less  than 
ten  minutes  you  'd  see  your  nails  growing  blue." 

"How  dreadful!" 

"And  if  you  felt  your  nose,  you  wouldn't  know  it  was 
your  nose;  you  'd  think  it  was  a  bit  of  a  cold  carrot." 

"Why  was  that?" 

"Because  there  was  no  circulation;  the  blood  would  stop 
going  round ;  and  you  'd  be  that  way  for  four  hours,  —  till 
the  sweating  took  you,  — just  the  same  as  dead." 

"There,  don't  go  on,  —  I  can't  stand  it,  —  my  nerves  are 
all  ajar  already." 

"And  then  the  cramps  came  on,"  continued  M'Cormick, 
in  an  ecstasy  over  a  listener  whose  feelings  he  could  harrow ; 
"first  in  the  calves  of  the  legs,  and  then  all  along  the  spine, 
so  that  you  'd  be  bent  like  a  fish." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  spare  me!  I've  seen  some  rough 
Avork,  but  that  description  of  j'ours  is  perfectly  horrifying! 
And  when  one  thinks  it  was  the  glorious  old  105th  —  " 

"No,  the  103d;  the  105th  was  at  Barbadoes,"  broke  in 
the  Major,  testily. 

"So  they  were,  and  got  their  share  of  the  yellow  fever  at 
that  very  time  too,"  said  Stapylton,  hazarding  a  not  very 
rash  conjecture. 


AN  EXPLORING  EXPEDITION.  155 

"Maybe  they  did,  and  maybe  they  didu't,"  was  the  dry 
rejoinder- 
It  required  all  Stapylton's  nice  tact  to  get  the  Major  once 
more  full  swing  at  the  expedition,  but  he  at  last  accom- 
plished the  feat,  and  with  such  success  that  M'Cormick  sug- 
gested an  adjournment  within  doors,  and  faintly  hinted  at  a 
possible  something  to  drink.  The  wily  guest,  however, 
declined  this.  "He  liked,"  he  said,  "that  nice  breezy  spot 
under  those  fine  old  trees,  and  with  that  glorious  reach  of 
the  river  before  them.  Could  a  man  but  join  to  these  enjoy- 
ments," he  continued,  "just  a  neighbor  or  two,  —  an  old 
friend  or  so  that  he  really  liked,  — one  not  alone  agreeable 
from  his  tastes,  but  to  whom  the  link  of  early  companion- 
ship also  attached  us,  with  this  addition  I  could  call  this  a 
paradise." 

"Well,  I  have  the  village  doctor,"  croaked  out  M'Cor- 
mick, "and  there's  Barrington  —  old  Peter  —  up  at  the 
'Fisherman's  Home.'  I  have  them  by  way  of  society.  I 
might  have  better,  and  I  might  have  worse." 

"They  told  me  at  Cobham  that  there  was  no  getting  you  to 
'  go  out; '  that,  like  a  regular  old  soldier,  you  liked  your  own 
chimney-corner,  and  could  not  be  tempted  away  from  it." 

"They  didn't  try  very  hard,  anyhow,"  said  he,  harshly. 
"I  '11  be  nineteen  years  here  if  I  live  till  November,  and 
I  think  I  got  two  invitations,  and  one  of  them  to  a  '  dancing 
tea,'  whatever  that  is;  so  that  you  may  observe  they  did  n't 
push  the  temptation  as  far  as  St.  Anthony's!  " 

Stapylton  joined  in  the  laugh  with  which  M'Cormick 
welcomed  his  own  drollery. 

"Your  doctor,"  resumed  he,  "is,  I  presume,  the  father  of 
the  pretty  girl  who  rides  so  cleverly?  " 

"So  they  tell  me.  I  never  saw  her  mounted  but  once, 
and  she  smashed  a  melon-frame  for  me,  and  not  so  much 
as  '  I  ask  your  pardon! '  afterwards." 

"And  Barrington,"  resumed  Stapylton,  "is  the  ruined 
gentleman  I  have  heard  of,  who  has  turned  innkeeper.  An 
extravagant  son,  I  believe,  finished  him  ?  " 

"His  own  taste  for  law  cost  him  just  as  much,"  muttered 
M'Cormick.  "He  had  a  trunk  full  of  old  title-deeds  and 
bonds  and   settlements,  and   he   was   always   poring   over 


156  BARRINGTON. 

them,  discovering,  bj'  the  way,  flaws  in  this  and  omissions 
in  that,  and  then  he  'd  draw  np  a  case  for  counsel,  and  get 
consultations  on  it,  and  before  you  could  turn  round,  there 
he  was,  trying  to  break  a  will  or  get  out  of  a  covenant,  with 
a  special  jury  and  the  strongest  Bar  in  Ireland.  That 's 
what  ruined  him." 

"I  gather  from  what  you  tell  me  that  he  is  a  bold,  deter- 
mined, and  perhaps  a  vindictive  man.     Am  I  right?' 

''You  are  not;  he's  an  easy- tempered  fellow,  and  care- 
less, like  every  one  of  his  name  and  race.  If  you  said  he 
hadn't  a  wise  head  on  his  shoulders,  you  'd  be  nearer  the 
mark.  Look  what  he  's  going  to  do  now!  "  cried  he,  warm- 
ing with  his  theme:  "he  's  going  to  give  up  the  inn  —  " 

"  Give  it  up !     And  why  ? " 

"Ay,  that's  the  question  would  puzzle  him  to  answer; 
but  it 's  the  haughty  old  sister  persuades  him  that  he  ought 
to  take  this  black  girl  —  George  Barrington's  daughter  — 
home  to  live  with  him,  and  that  a  shebeen  is  n't  the  place  to 
bring  her  to,  and  she  a  negress.  That 's  more  of  the  famil}' 
wisdom ! " 

"There  may  be  affection  in  it.  " 

"Affection!  For  what,  — for  a  black!  Ay,  and  a  black 
that  they  never  set  eyes  on !  If  it  was  old  AVithering  had 
the  affection  for  her,  I  wouldn't  be  surprised." 

"What  do  you  mean?     Who  is  he?  " 

"The  Attorney-General,  who  has  been  fighting  the  East 
India  Company  for  her  these  sixteen  years,  and  making 
more  money  out  of  the  case  than  she  '11  ever  get  back  again. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  Barrington  and  Lot  Rammadahn  Mohr 
against  the  India  Company?  That's  the  case.  Twelve 
millions  of  rupees  and  the  interest  on  them !  And  I  believe 
in  my  heart  and  soul  old  Peter  would  be  well  out  of  it  for 
a  thousand  pounds." 

"That  is,  you  suspect  he  must  be  beaten  in  the  end?  " 

"I  mean  that  I  am  sure  of  it!  We  have  a  saying  in  Ire- 
land, '  It 's  not  fair  for  one  man  to  fall  on  twenty,'  and  it 's 
just  the  same  thing  to  go  to  law  with  a  great  rich  Company. 
You  're  sure  to  have  the  worst  of  it." 

"Did  it  never  occur  to  them  to  make  some  sort  of  com- 
promise? " 


AN   EXPLORING   EXPEDITION.  157 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  Old  Peter  always  thinks  he  has  the 
game  in  his  hand,  and  nothing  would  make  him  throw  up 
the  cards.  No;  I  believe  if  you  offered  to  pay  the  stakes, 
he  'd  say,  '  Play  the  game  out,  and  let  the  winner  take  the 
money ! '  " 

"His  lawyer  may,  possibly,  have  something  to  say  to  this 
spirit." 

"Of  course  he  has;  they  are  always  bolstering  each  other 
up.  It  is,  '  Harrington,  my  boy,  you  '11  turn  the  corner  yet. 
You  '11  drive  up  that  old  avenue  to  the  house  you  were  born 
in,  Barrington,  of  Barrington  Hall ; '  or,  '  Withering,  I  never 
heard  you  greater  than  on  that  point  before  the  twelve 
Judges; '  or,  '  Your  last  speech  at  Bar  was  finer  than  Curran.' 
They  'd  pass  the  evening  that  way,  and  call  me  a  cantan- 
kerous old  hound  when  my  back  was  turned,  just  because  I 
did  n't  hark  in  to  the  cry.  Maybe  I  have  the  laugh  at  them, 
after  all."  And  he  broke  out  into  one  of  his  most  discor- 
dant cackles  to  corroborate  his  boast. 

"The  sound  sense  and  experience  of  an  old  Walcheren 
man  might  have  its  weight  with  them.  I  know  it  would 
with  me." 

"Ay,"  muttered  the  Major,  half  aloud,  for  he  was  think- 
ing to  himself  whether  this  piece  of  flattery  was  a  bait  for 
a  little  whiskey-and-water. 

"I  'd  rather  have  the  unbought  judgment  of  a  shrewd  man 
of  the  world  than  a  score  of  opinions  based  upon  the  quips 
and  cranks  of  an  attorney's  instructions." 

"Ay!"  responded  the  other,  as  he  mumbled  to  himself, 
"he's  mighty  thirsty." 

"And  what's  more,"  said  Stapylton,  starting  to  his  legs, 
*'I  'd  follow  the  one  as  implicitly  as  I'd  reject  the  other. 
I  'd  say,  '  M'Cormick  is  an  old  friend;  we  have  known  each 
other  since  boyhood.'  " 

"No,  we  haven't.  I  never  saw  Peter  Barrington  till  I 
came  to  live  here." 

"Well,  after  a  close  friendship  of  years  with  his  son  —  " 

"Nor  that,  either,"  broke  in  the  implacable  Major.  "He 
was  always  cutting  his  jokes  on  me,  and  I  never  could 
abide  him,  so  that  the  close  friendship  you  speak  of  is  a 
mistake." 


158  BAKKLNGTOIN. 

"At  all  events,"  said  Stapyltou,  sharply,  "it  could  be 
no  interest  of  yours  to  see  an  old  —  an  old  acquaintance 
lavishing  his  money  on  lawyers  and  in  the  pursuit  of  the 
most  improbable  of  all  results.  Yuu  have  no  design  upon 
him.      You  don't  want  to  marry  his  sister!  " 

"No,  by  Gemini!  "  —  a  favorite  expletive  of  the  Major's 
in  urgent  moments. 

"Nor  the  Meer's  daughter,  either,  I  suppose?" 

"The  black!  I  think  not.  Not  if  she  won  the  lawsuit, 
and  was  as  rich  as  —  she  never  will  be." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,  Major,  though  I  know  nothing 
of  the  case  or  its  merits ;  but  it  is  enough  to  hear  that  a 
beggared  squire  is  on  one  side,  and  Leadenhall  Street  on 
the  other,  to  predict  the  upshot,  and,  for  my  own  part,  I 
wonder  they  go  on  with  it." 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,"  said  M'Cormick,  closing  one 
eye  so  as  to  impart  a  look  of  intense  cunning  to  his  face. 
"It 's  the  same  with  law  as  at  a  fox-hunt:  when  you  're  tired 
out  beating  a  cover,  and  ready  to  go  off  home,  one  dog  — 
very  often  the  worst  in  the  whole  pack  —  will  j^elp  out. 
You  know  well  enough  he  's  a  bad  hound,  and  never  found 
in  his  life.  What  does  that  signify?  When  you're  wish- 
ing a  thing,  whatever  flatters  your  hopes  is  all  right,  —  is  n't 
that  true?  —  and  away  you  dash  after  the  yelper  as  if  he  was 
a  good  hound."  ' 

"You  have  put  the  matter  most  convincingly'  before  me." 

"How  thirsty  he  is  now!"  thought  the  Major;  and 
grinned  maliciously  at  his  reflection. 

"And  the  upshot  of  all,"  said  Stapylton,  like  one  sum- 
ming up  a  case,  — "the  upshot  of  all  is,  that  this  old  man 
is  not  satisfied  with  his  ruin  if  it  be  not  complete;  he  must 
see  the  last  timbers  of  the  wreck  carried  away  ere  he  leaves 
the  scene  of  his  disaster.    Strange,  sad  infatuation!  " 

"Ay,"  muttered  the  jNIajor,  who  really  had  but  few  sym- 
pathies with  merely  moral  abstractions. 

"Not  what  I  should  have  done  in  a  like  case;  nor  ijou 
either.  Major,  eh?" 

"Very  likely  not." 

"But  so  it  is.  There  are  men  who  cannot  be  practical, 
do  what  they  will.     This  is  above  them." 


AN  EXPLORING  EXPEDITION.  159 

A  sort  of  grunt  gave  assent  to  this  proposition;  and 
Stapylton,  who  began  to  feel  it  was  a  drawn  game,  arose  to 
take  his  leave. 

"I  owe  you  a  very  delightful  morning,  Major,"  said  he. 
"I  wish  I  could  think  it  was  not  to  be  the  last  time  I 
was  to  have  this  pleasure.  Do  you  ever  come  up  to  Kil- 
kenny? Does  it  ever  occur  to  you  to  refresh  your  old 
mess  recollections  ?  " 

Had  M'Cormick  been  asked  whether  he  did  not  occasion- 
ally drop  in  at  Holland  House,  and  brush  up  his  faculties 
by  intercourse  with  the  bright  spirits  who  resorted  there,  he 
could  scarcely  have  been  more  astounded.  That  he,  old 
Dan  M'Cormick,  should  figure  at  a  mess- table,  — he,  whose 
wardrobe,  a  mere  skeleton  battalion  thirty  years  ago,  had 
never  since  been  recruited,  — he  should  mingle  with  the  gay 
and  splendid  young  fellows  of  a  "crack"  regiment! 

"I'd  just  as  soon  think  of  —  of  —  "  he  hesitated  how  to 
measure  an  unlikelihood  —  "of  marrying  a  young  wife,  and 
taking  her  off  to  Paris!  " 

"And  I  don't  see  any  absurdity  in  the  project.  There  is 
certainly  a  great  deal  of  brilliancy  about  it!  " 

"And  something  bitter  too!"  croaked  out  M'Cormick, 
with  a  fearful  grin. 

"Well,  if  you  '11  not  come  to  see  me,  the  chances  are  I  '11 
come  over  and  make  t/oii  another  visit  before  I  leave  the 
neighborhood."  He  waited  a  second  or  two,  not  more,  for 
some  recognition  of  this  offer;  but  none  came,  and  he  con- 
tinued: "I'll  get  you  to  stroll  down  with  me,  and  show  me 
this  '  Fisherman's  Home,'  and  its  strange  proprietor." 

"Oh,  I  '11  do  that/  "  said  the  Major,  who  had  no  objection 
to  a  plan  which  by  no  possibility  could  involve  himself  in 
any  cost. 

"As  it  is  an  inn,  perhaps  they  'd  let  us  have  a  bit  of  din- 
ner. ■  What  would  you  say  to  being  my  guest  there  to- 
morrow ?     Would  that  suit  you  ?  " 

"It  would  suit  7)ie  well  enough!  "  was  the  strongly  marked 
reply. 

"Well,  we  '11  do  it  this  wise.  You  '11  send  one  of  your 
people  over  to  order  dinner  for  two  at  —  shall  we  say  five 
o'clock?  —  yes,    five  —  to-morrow.      That   will   give   us   a 


160  BARRINGTON. 

longer  evening,  and  I  '11  call  here  for  you  about  four.  Is 
that  agreed  ?  " 

"Yes,  that  might  do,"  was  M'Cormick's  half-reluctant 
assent,  for,  in  reality,  there  were  details  in  the  matter  that 
he  scarcely  fancied.  First  of  all,  he  had  never  hitherto 
crossed  that  threshold  except  as  an  invited  guest,  and  he 
had  his  misgivings  about  the  prudence  of  appearing  in  any 
other  character,  and  secondly,  there  was  a  responsibility 
in  ordering  the  dinner,  which  he  liked  just  as  little,  and,  as 
he  muttered  to  himself,  "Maybe  I'll  have  to  order  the  bill 
too ! " 

Some  unlucky  experiences  of  casualties  of  this  sort  had, 
perhaps,  shadowed  his  early  life;  for  so  it  was,  that  long 
after  Stapylton  had  taken  his  leave  and  gone  off,  the  Major 
stood  there  ruminating  over  this  unpleasant  contingenc}', 
and  ingeniously  imagining  all  the  pleas  he  could  put  in, 
should  his  apprehension  prove  correct,  against  his  own 
indebtedness, 

"Tell  Miss  Dinah,"  said  he  to  his  messenger,  — "tell  her 
'tis  an  officer  by  the  name  of  Captain  Staples,  or  something 
like  that,  that 's  up  at  Cobham,  that  wants  a  dinner  for  two 
to-morrow  at  five  o'clock;  and  mind  that  you  don't  say 
who  the  other  is,  for  it 's  nothing  to  her.  And  if  she  asks 
you  what  sort  of  a  dinner,  say  the  best  in  the  house,  for  the 
Captain  —  mind  you  say  the  Captaiai  —  is  to  pay  for  it,  and 
the  other  man  only  dines  with  him.  There,  now,  you  have 
your  orders,  and  take  care  that  you  follow  them !  " 

There  was  a  shrewd  twinkle  in  the  messenger's  eye  as  he 
listened,  which,  if  not  exactly  complimentary,  guaranteed 
how  thoroughly  he  comprehended  the  instructions  that  were 
given  to  him ;  and  the  Major  saw  him  set  forth  on  his 
mission,  well  assured  that  he  could  trust  his  envoy. 

In  that  nothing-for-nothing  world  Major  M'Cormiek  had 
so  long  lived  in,  and  to  whose  practice  and  ways  he  had 
adapted  all  his  thoughts,  there  was  something  puzzling  in 
the  fact  of  a  dashing  Captain  of  Hussars  of  "the  Prince's 
Own,"  seeking  him  out,  to  form  his  acquaintance  and  invite 
him  to  dinner.  Now,  though  the  selfishness  of  an  unimagi- 
native man  is  the  most  complete  of  all,  it  yet  exposes  him 
to  fewer  delusions  than  the  same  quality  when  found  allied 


AN  EXPLORING  EXPEDITION.  161 

with  a  hopeful  or  fanciful  temperament.  M'Cormick  had 
no  "distractions  "  from  such  sources.  He  thought  very  ill 
of  the  world  at  large;  he  expected  extremely  little  from  its 
generosit}',  and  he  resolved  to  be  "  quits  "  with  it.  To  his 
often  put  question,  "  "What  brought  him  here?  —  what  did  he 
come  for?"  he  could  find  no  satisfactory  reply.  He  scouted 
the  notion  of  "love  of  scenery,  solitude,  and  so  forth,"  and 
as  fully  he  ridiculed  to  himself  the  idea  of  a  stranger  caring 
to  hear  the  gossip  and  small-talk  of  a  mere  country  neigh- 
borhood. "I  have  it!  "  cried  he  at  last,  as  a  bright  thought 
darted  through  his  brain,  — "I  have  it  at  last!  He  wants 
to  pump  me  about  the  'expedition.'  It's  for  that  he's 
come.  He  affected  surprise,  to  be  sure,  when  I  said  I  was 
a  "SValcheren  man,  and  pretended  to  be  amazed,  besides; 
but  that  was  all  make-believe.  He  knew  well  enough  who 
and  what  I  was  before  he  came.  And  he  was  so  cunning, 
leading  the  conversation  away  in  another  direction,  getting 
me  to  talk  of  old  Peter  and  his  son  George.  Was  n't  it 
deep?  —  was  n't  it  sly?  Well,  maybe  we  are  not  so  innocent 
as  we  look,  ourselves ;  maybe  we  have  a  trick  in  our  sleeves 
too!  '  With  a  good  dinner  and  a  bottle  of  port  wine,'  says 
he,  '  I  '11  have  the  whole  story,  and  be  able  to  write  it  with 
the  signature  "One  who  was  there."  '  But  you  're  mistaken 
this  time,  Captain;  the  sorrow  bit  of  Walchereu  you  '11  hear 
out  of  my  mouth  to-morrow,  be  as  pleasant  and  congenial 
as  you  like.  I  '11  give  you  the  Barringtons,  father  and  son, 
—  ay,  and  old  Dinah,  too,  if  you  fancy  her,  —  but  not  a 
syllable  about  the  expedition.  It 's  the  Scheldt  you  want, 
but  you'll  have  to  '  take  it  out'  in  the  Ganges."  And  his 
uncouth  joke  so  tickled  him  that  he  laughed  till  his  eyes 
ran  over;  and  in  the  thought  that  he  was  going  to  obtain  a 
dinner  under  false  pretences,  he  felt  something  as  nearly  like 
happiness  as  he  had  tasted  for  many  a  long  day  before. 

VOL.  I.  — 11 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

COMING    HOME. 

Miss  Barrington  waited  with  impatience  for  Conyers's  ap- 
pearance at  the  breakfast-table,  —  she  had  received  such  a 
pleasant  note  from  her  brother,  and  she  was  so  eager  to 
read  it.  That  notion  of  imparting  some  conception  of  a 
dear  friend  by  reading  his  own  words  to  a  stranger  is  a 
very  natural  one.  It  serves  so  readily  to  corroborate  all 
we  have  already  said,  to  fill  up  that  picture  of  which  we 
have  but  given  the  mere  outline,  not  to  speak  of  the  inex- 
plicable charm  there  is  in  being  able  to  say,  "  Here  is  the 
man  without  reserve  or  disguise ;  here  he  is  in  all  the  fresh- 
ness and  warmth  of  genuine  feeling;  no  tricks  of  style,  no 
turning  of  phrases  to  mar  the  honest  expression  of  his 
nature.     You  see  him  as  we  see  him." 

"My  brother  is  coming  home,  Mr.  Conyers;  he  will  be 
here  to-day.  Here  is  his  note,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  as  she 
shook  hands  with  her  guest.     "I  must  read  it  for  you:  — 

"  'At  last,  my  dear  Dinah  —  at  last  I  am  free,  and,  with  all  my 
love  of  law  and  lawyers,  right  glad  to  turn  my  steps  homeward. 
Not  but  I  have  had  a  most  brilliant  week  of  it;  dined  with  my  old 
schoolfellow  Longmore,  now  Chief  Baron,  and  was  the  honored 
guest  of  the  "  Home  Circuit,"  not  to  speak  of  one  glorious  evening 
with  a  club  called  the  "  Unbriefed,"  the  pleasantest  dogs  that  ever 
made  good  speeches  for  nothing  1  —  an  amount  of  dissipation  upon 
which  I  can  well  retire  and  live  for  the  next  twelve  months.  How 
strange  it  seems  to  me  to  be  once  more  in  the  "  world,"  and  listening 
to  scores  of  things  in  which  I  have  no  personal  interest ;  how  small 
it  makes  my  own  daily  life  appear,  but  how  secure  and  how  home- 
like, Dinah  !  You  have  often  heard  me  grumbling  over  the  decline 
of  social  agreeability,  and  the  dearth  of  those  pleasant  speeches  that 
could  set  the  table  in  a  roar.  You  shall  never  hear  the  same  com- 
plaint from  me  again.      These  fellows  are  just   as  good  as  their 


COMDsG  HOME.  163 

fathers.  If  I  missed  anythino;,  it  was  that  glitter  of  scholarship,  that 
classical  turn  which  in  the  olden  day  elevated  table-talk,  and  made 
it  racy  with  the  smart  aphorisms  and  happy  conceits  of  those  who, 
even  over  their  wine,  were  poets  and  orators.  But  perhaps  I  am 
not  quite  fair  even  in  this.  At  all  events,  I  am  not  going  to  dis- 
parage those  who  have  brought  back  to  my  old  age  some  of  the 
pleasant  memories  of  my  youth,  and  satisfied  me  that  even  yet  I 
have  a  heart  for  those  social  joys  I  once  loved  so  dearly  ! 

"  '  And  we  have  won  our  suit,  Dinah,  —  at  least,  a  juror  was  with- 
drawn by  consent,  —  and  Brazier  agrees  to  an  arbitration  as  to  the 
Moyalty  lands,  the  whole  of  Clanebrach  and  Barrymaquilty  prop- 
erty being  released  from  the  sequestration.' 

"  This  is  all  personal  matter,  and  technical  besides,"  said 
Miss  Barrington;   "  so  I  skip  it." 

"  '  Withering  was  finer  than  ever  I  heard  him  in  the  speech  to 
evidence.  We  have  been  taunted  with  our  defensive  attitude  so 
suddenly  converted  into  an  attack,  and  he  compared  our  position  to 
WelUngton's  at  Torres  Vedras.  The  Chief  Justice  said  Curran,  at 
his  best,  never  excelled  it,  and  they  have  called  me  nothing  but 
Lord  AVellington  ever  since.  And  now,  Dinah,  to  answer  the 
question  your  impatience  has  been  putting  these  ten  minutes : 
*'  What  of  the  money  part  of  all  this  triumph?"  I  fear  much,  my 
dear  sister,  we  are  to  take  little  by  our  motion.  The  costs  of  the 
campaign  cut  up  all  but  the  glory !  Hogan's  bill  extends  to  thirty- 
eight  folio  pages,  and  there  's  a  codicil  to  it  of  eleven  more,  headed 
"  Confidential  between  Client  and  Attorney,"  and  though  I  have  not 
in  a  rapid  survey  seen  anything  above  five  pounds,  the  gross  total 
is  two  thousand  seven  hundred  and  forty-three  pounds  three  and 
fourpence.  I  must  and  will  say,  however,  it  was  a  great  suit,  and 
admirably  prepared.  There  was  not  an  instruction  Withering  did 
not  find  substantiated,  and  Hogan  is  equally  deUghted  with  him. 
With  all  my  taste  for  field  sports  and  manly  games,  Dinah,  I  am 
firmly  convinced  that  a  good  trial  at  bar  is  a  far  finer  spectacle  than 
the  grandest  tournament  that  ever  was  tilted.  There  was  a  skir- 
mish yesterday  that  I  'd  rather  have  witnessed  than  I  'd  have  seen 
Brian  de  Bois  himself  at  Ashby-de-la-Zouch.  And,  considering 
that  my  own  share  for  this  passage  at  arms  will  come  to  a  trifle 
above  two  thousand  pounds,  the  confession  may  be  taken  as  an 
honest  one. 

"  '  And  who  is  your  young  guest  whom  I  shall  be  so  delighted  to 
see?  This  gives  no  clew  to  him,  Dinah,  for  you  know  well  how  I 
would  welcome  any  one  who  has  impressed  you  so  favorablv.  En- 
treat of  him  to  prolong  his  stay  for  a  week  at  least,  and  if  I  can 


164  BARRLNGTON. 

persuade  Withering  to  come  down  with  me,  we  '11  try  and  make  his 
sojourn  more  agreeable.  Look  out  for  me  —  at  least,  about  five 
o'clock  —  and  have  the  green-room  ready  for  W.,  and  let  Darby  be 
at  Holt's  stile  to  take  the  trunks,  for  Withering  likes  that  walk 
through  the  woods,  and  says  that  he  leaves  his  wig  and  gown  on  the 
holly-bushes  there  till  he  goes  back.'  " 

The  next  paragraph  she  skimmed  over  to  herself.  It  was 
one  about  an  advance  that  Ilogan  had  let  him  have  of  two 
hundred  pounds.  "Quite  ample,"  W.  says,  "for  our  ex- 
cursion to  fetch  over  Josephine."  Some  details  as  to  the 
route  followed,  and  some  wise  hints  about  travelling  on  the 
Continent,  and  a  hearty  concurrence  on  the  old  lawyer's  part 
with  the  whole  scheme. 

"These  are  little  home  details,"  said  she,  hurriedly,  •'  but 
you  have  heard  enough  to  guess  what  my  brother  is  like. 
Here  is  the  conclusion  :  — 

"  '  I  hope  your  young  friend  is  a  fisherman,  which  will  give  me 
more  chance  of  his  company  than  walking  up  the  partridges,  for 
which  I  am  getting  too  old.  Let  him  however  understand  that  we 
mean  him  to  enjoy  himself  in  his  own  way,  to  have  the  most  jierfect 
libertv,  and  that  the  only  despotism  we  insist  upon  is,  not  to  be  late 
for  dinner. 

"  '  Your  loving  brother, 

" '  Peter  Barrington. 

"  '  There  is  no  fatted  calf  to  feast  our  return,  Dinah,  but  Wither- 
ing has  an  old  weakness  for  a  roast  sucking-pig.  Don't  you  think 
we  could  satisfy  it  ?  '  " 

Conyers  readily  caught  the  contagion  of  the  joy  Miss  Bar- 
rington  felt  at  the  thought  of  her  brother's  return.  Short  as 
the  distance  was  that  separated  him  from  home,  his  absences 
were  so  rare,  it  seemed  as  though  he  had  gone  miles  and 
miles  away,  for  few  people  ever  lived  more  dependent  on 
each  other,  with  interests  more  concentrated,  and  all  of  whose 
hopes  and  fears  took  exactly  the  same  direction,  than  this 
brother  and  sister,  and  this,  too,  with  some  strong  differ- 
ences on  the  score  of  temperament,  of  which  the  reader 
already  has  an  inkling. 

What  a  pleasant  bustle  that  is  of  a  household  that  prepares 
for  the  return  of  a  well-loved  master!     What  feeling   per- 


COMING   HOME.  165 

vades  twenty  little  offices  of  every-day  routine !  And  how 
dignified  by  affection  are  the  smallest  cares  and  the  very 
humblest  attentions  !  "  He  likes  this  !  "  "  He  is  so  fond  of 
that !  "  are  heard  at  every  moment.  It  is  then  that  one 
marks  how  the  observant  eye  of  love  has  followed  the  most 
ordinary  tricks  of  habit,  and  treasured  them  as  things  to  be 
remembered.  It  is  not  the  key  of  the  street  door  in  your 
pocket,  nor  the  lease  of  the  premises  in  your  drawer,  that 
make  a  home.  Let  us  be  grateful  when  we  remember  that, 
in  this  attribute,  the  humblest  shealing  on  the  hillside  is  not 
inferior  to  the  palace  of  the  king ! 

Conyers,  I  have  said,  partook  heartily  of  Miss  Barring- 
ton's  delight,  and  gave  a  willing  help  to  the  preparations  that 
went  forward.  All  were  soon  busy  within  doors  and  with- 
out. Some  were  raking  the  gravel  before  the  door ;  while 
others  were  disposing  the  flower-pots  in  little  pyramids 
through  the  grass  plats;  and  then  there  were  trees  to  be 
nailed  up,  and  windows  cleaned,  and  furniture  changed  in 
various  ways.  AVhat  superhuman  efforts  did  not  Conyers 
make  to  get  an  old  jet  d'eau  to  play  which  had  not  spouted 
for  nigh  twenty  years  ;  and  how  reluctantly  he  resigned  him- 
self to  failure  and  assisted  Betty  to  shake  a  carpet ! 

And  when  all  was  completed,  and  the  soft  and  balmy  air 
sent  the  odor  of  the  rose  and  the  jessamine  through  the  open 
windows,  within  which  every  appearance  of  ease  and  comfort 
prevailed,  Miss  Barrington  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  began 
to  refresh  her  memory  of  some  Irish  airs,  old  favorites  of 
TTithering's,  which  he  was  sure  to  ask  for.  There  was  that 
in  their  plaintive  wildness  which  strongly  interested  Conyers  ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  he  was  astonished  at  the  skill  of  one 
at  whose  touch,  once  on  a  time,  tears  had  trembled  in  the 
eyes  of  those  who  listened,  and  whose  fingei'S  had  not  yet 
forgot  their  cunning. 

"Who  is  that  standing  without  there?"  said  Miss  Bar- 
rington, suddenly,  as  she  saw  a  very  poor-looking  country- 
man who  had  drawn  close  to  the  window  to  listen.  "  Who 
are  you  ?  and  what  do  you  want  here  ?  "  asked  she,  approach- 
ing him. 

"I'm  Terry,  ma'am,  —  Terry  Delany,  the  Major's  man," 
said  he,  taking  off  his  hat. 


166  BARRINGTON. 

"  Never  heard  of-  you  ;  and  what 's  your  business?  " 

"  'T  is  how  I  was  sent,  ^'our  honor's  reverence,"  began  he, 
faltering  at  every  word,  and  evidently  terrified  by  her  impe- 
rious style  of  address.  "'Tis  how  I  came  here  with  the 
master's  compliments,  —  not  indeed  his  own  but  the  other 
man's,  —  to  say,  that  if  it  was  plazing  to  you,  or,  indeed, 
anyhow  at  all,  they  'd  be  here  at  five  o'clock  to  dinner ;  and 
though  it  was  yesterday  I  got  it,  I  stopped  with  my  sister's 
husband  at  Foynes  Gap,  and  misremembered  it  all  till  this 
morning,  and  I  hope  your  honor's  reverence  won't  tell  it  on 
me,  but  have  the  best  in  the  house  all  the  same,  for  he  's 
rich  enough  and  can  well  afford  it." 

"  What  can  the  creature  mean?"  cried  Miss  Barrington. 
"Who  sent  you  here?" 

"The  Major  himself;  but  not  for  him,  but  for  the  other 
that's  up  at  Cobham." 

"  And  who  is  this  other?     What  is  he  called?  " 

"'Twas  something  like  Hooks,  or  Nails;  but  I  can't 
remember,"  said  he,  scratching  his  head  in  sign  of  utter  and 
complete  bewilderment. 

"Did  any  one  ever  hear  the  like!  Is  the  fellow  an 
idiot?"  exclaimed  she,  angrily. 

"No,  my  lady;  but  many  a  one  might  be  that  lived 
with  ould  M'Cormick!"  burst  out  the  man,  in  a  rush  of 
unguardedness. 

"Try  and  collect  yourself,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Miss 
Barrington,  smiling,  in  spite  of  herself,  at  his  confession, 
"and  say,   if  you  can,  what  brought  you  here?" 

"  It's  just,  then,  what  I  said  before,"  said  he,  gaining  a 
little  more  courage.  "It's  dinner  for  two  ye 're  to  have; 
and  it 's  to  be  ready  at  five  o'clock  ;  but  ye  're  not  to  look  to 
ould  Dan  for  the  money,  for  he  as  good  as  said  he  would 
never  pay  sixpence  of  it,  but  't  is  all  to  come  out  of  the  other 
chap's  pocket,  and  well  affordin'  it.  There  it  is  now,  and  I 
defy  the  Pope  o'  Rome  to  say  that  I  did  n't  give  the  message 

right ! " 

"  Mr.  Conyers,"  began  Miss  Barrington,  in  a  voice  shak- 
ing with  agitation,  "  it  is  nigh  twenty  years  since  a  series 
of  misfortunes  brought  us  so  low  in  the  world  that  —  "  She 
stopped,  partly  overcome  by  indignation,  partly  by  shame; 


COMING  HOME.  167 

and  then,  suddenly  turning  towards  the  man,  she  continued, 
in  a  firm  and  resolute  tone,  "Go  back  to  your  master  and 
say,  '  Miss  Barrington  hopes  he  has  sent  a  fool  on  his 
errand,  otherwise  his  message  is  so  insolent  it  will  be  far 
safer  he  should  never  present  himself  here  again  !  '  Do  you 
hear  me?     Do  you  understand  me?  " 

' '  If  you  mane  you  'd  make  them  throw  him  in  the  river, 
the  divil  a  straw  I  'd  care,  and  I  would  n't  wet  my  feet  to 
pick  him  out  of  it !  " 

"Take  the  message  as  I  have  given  it  you,  and  do  not 
dare  to  mix  up  anything  of  your  own  with  it." 

•*  Faix,  I  won't.  It 's  trouble  enough  I  have  without  that ! 
I  '11  tell  him  there 's  no  dinner  for  him  here  to-day,  and  that, 
if  he  's  wise,  he  won't  come  over  to  look  for  it." 

'•There,  go  —  be  off,"  cried  Conyers,  impatiently,  for  he 
saw  that  Miss  Barrington's  temper  was  being  too  sorely 
tried. 

She  conquered,  however,  the  indignation  that  at  one 
moment  had  threatened  to  master  her,  and  in  a  voice  of 
tolerable  calm  said,  — 

•*  May  I  ask  you  to  see  if  Darby  or  any  other  of  the  work- 
men are  in  the  garden?  It  is  high  time  to  take  down  these 
insignia  of  our  traffic,  and  tell  our  friends  how  we  would  be 
regarded  in  future." 

"  Will  you  let  me  do  it?  I  ask  as  a  favor  that  I  may  be 
permitted  to  do  it,"  cried  Conyers,  eagerly;  and  without 
waiting  for  her  answer,  hurried  away  to  fetch  a  ladder. 
He  was  soon  back  again  and  at  work. 

"  Take  care  how  you  remove  that  board,  Mr.  Conyers," 
said  she.  "  If  there  be  the  tiniest  sprig  of  jessamine  broken, 
my  brother  will  miss  it.  He  has  been  watching  anxiously 
for  the  time  when  the  white  bells  would  shut  out  every  letter 
of  his  name,  and  I  like  him  not  to  notice  the  change  immedi- 
ately. There,  you  are  doing  it  very  handily  indeed.  There 
is  another  holdfast  at  this  corner.  Ah,  be  careful ;  that  is  a 
branch  of  the  passion-tree,  and  though  it  looks  dead,  you 
will  see  it  covered  with  flowers  in  spring.  Nothing  could 
be  better.  Now  for  the  last  emblem  of  our  craft,  —  can  you 
reach  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,    easily,"   said    Conyers,   as   he   raised   his  eyes  to 


168  BARRINGTON. 

where  the  little  tin  fish  hung  glittering  above  him.  The 
ladder,  however,  was  too  short,  and,  standing  ou  one  of 
the  highest  rungs,  still  he  could  not  reach  the  little  iron 
stanchion.  "I  must  have  it,  though,"  cried  he;  "I  mean 
to  claim  that  as  my  prize.  It  will  be  the  only  fish  I  ever 
took  with  my  own  hands."  lie  now  cautiously  crept  up 
anotlier  step  of  the  ladder,  supporting  himself  by  the  frail 
creepers  which  covered  the  walls.  "  Help  me  now  with  a 
crooked  stick,  and  I  shall  catch  it." 

''I'll  fetch  you  one,"  said  she,  disappearing  within  the 
porch. 

Still  wistfully  looking  at  the  object  of  his  pursuit,  Conyers 
never  turned  his  eyes  downwards  as  the  sound  of  steps 
apprised  him  some  one  was  near,  and,  concluding  it  to  be 
Miss  Barrington,  he  said,  "I'm  half  afraid  that  I  have  torn 
some  of  this  jessamine-tree  from  the  wall ;  but  see  here 's 
the  prize!"  A  slight  air  of  wind  had  wafted  it  towards 
him,  and  he  snatched  the  fish  from  its  slender  chain  and  held 
it  up  in  triumph. 

"A  poacher  caught  in  the  fact,  Barrington!"  said  a 
deep  voice  from  below;  and  Conyers,  looking  down,  saw 
two  men,  both  advanced  in  life,  very  gravely  watching  his 
proceedings. 

Not  a  little  ashamed  of  a  situation  to  which  he  never 
expected  an  audience,  he  hastily  descended  the  ladder; 
but  before  he  reached  the  ground  Miss  Barrington  was  in 
her  brother's  arms,  and  welcoming  him  home  with  all  the 
warmth  of  true  affection.  This  over,  she  next  shook 
hands  cordially  with  his  companion,  whom  she  called  Mr. 
Withering. 

"  And  now,  Peter,"  said  she,  "  to  present  one  I  have  been 
longing  to  make  known  to  you.  You,  who  never  forget  a 
well-known  face,  will  recognize  him." 

"My  eyes  are  not  what  they  used  to  be,"  said  Barring- 
ton, holding  out  his  hand  to  Conyers,  "but  they  are  good 
enough  to  see  the  young  gentleman  I  left  here  when  I  w^eut 

away." 

"Yes,  Peter,"  said  she,  hastily;  "but  does  the  sight  of 
him  bring  back  to  you  no  memory  of  poor  George?" 

'*  George  was  dark  as  a  Spaniard,  and  this  gentleman  — 


COMING  HOME. 


169 


But  pray,  sir,  forgive  this  rudeness  of  ours,  and  let  us  make 
ourselves  better  acquainted  within  doors.  You  mean  to  stay 
some  time  here,  I  hope." 

"  I  only  wish  I  could  ;  but  I  have  already  overstayed  my 


leave,  and  waited  here  only  to  shake  j^our  hand   before  1 
left." 

"Peter,  Peter,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  impatiently,   "must  I 
then  tell  whom  you  are  speaking  to?" 


170  BAllRINGTON. 

Barrington  seemed  puzzled.  He  looked  from  the  stranger 
to  bis  sister,  and  back  again. 

She  drew  near  and  whispered  in  his  ear:  "The  son  of 
poor  George's  dearest  friend  on  earth,  — the  son  of  Ormsby 
Conyers." 

"Of  whom?"  said  Barrington,  in  a  startled  and  half- 
angry  voice. 

"  Of  Ormsby  Conyers." 

Barrington  trembled  from  head  to  foot ;  his  face,  for  an 
instant  crimson,  became  suddenly  of  an  ashy  paleness,  and 
his  voice  shook  as  he  said,  — 

"I  was  not — I  am  not  —  prepared  for  this  honor.  I 
mean,  I  could  not  have  expected  that  Mr.  Conyers  would 
have  desired  —  Say  this  —  do  this  for  me.  Withering,  for 
I  am  not  equal  to  it,"  said  the  old  man,  as,  with  his  hands 
pressed  over  his  face,  he  hurried  within  the  house,  followed 
by  his  sister. 

"  I  cannot  make  a  guess  at  the  explanation  my  friend  has 
left  me  to  make,"  cried  Withering,  courteously;  "but  it  is 
plain  to  see  that  your  name  has  revived  some  sorrow  con- 
nected with  the  great  calamity  of  his  life.  You  have  heard 
of  his  son,  Colonel  Barrington?" 

"  Yes,  and  it  was  because  my  father  had  been  his  dearest 
friend  that  Miss  Barrington  insisted  on  my  remaining  here. 
She  told  me,  over  and  over  again,  of  the  joy  her  brother 
would  feel  on  meeting  me  — " 

"Where  are  you  going, — what's  the  matter?"  asked 
Withering,  as  a  man  hurriedly  passed  out  of  the  house  and 
made  for  the  river. 

"  The  master  is  taken  bad,  sir,  and  I  'm  going  to  Inistioge 
for  the  doctor." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  said  Conyers ;  and,  only  returning 
by  a  nod  the  good-bye  of  Withering,  he  moved  past  and 
stepped  into  the  boat. 

' '  What  an  afternoon  to  such  a  morning  !  "  muttered  he  to 
himself,  as  the  tears  started  from  his  eyes  and  stole  heavily 
along  his  cheeks. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

A    SHOCK. 

If  Conyers  had  been  in  the  frame  of  mind  to  notice  it,  the 
contrast  between  the  neat  propriety  of  the  "  Fisherman's 
Home,"  and  the  disorder  and  slovenliness  of  the  little  inn  at 
Inistioge  could  not  have  failed  to  impress  itself  upon  him. 
The  "Spotted  Duck"  was  certainly,  in  all  its  details,  the 
very  reverse  of  that  quiet  and  picturesque  cottage  he  had 
just  quitted.  But  what  did  he  care  at  that  moment  for  the 
roof  that  sheltered  him,  or  the  table  that  was  spread  before 
him?  For  days  back  he  had  been  indulging  in  thoughts  of 
that  welcome  which  Miss  Barrington  had  promised  him. 
He  fancied  how,  on  the  mere  mention  of  his  father's  name, 
the  old  man's  affection  would  have  poured  forth  in  a  flood  of 
kindest  words ;  he  had  even  prepared  himself  for  a  scene  of 
such  emotion  as  a  father  might  have  felt  on  seeing  one  who 
brought  back  to  mind  his  own  son's  earlier  years ;  and 
instead  of  all  this,  he  found  himself  shunned,  avoided,  re- 
pulsed. If  there  was  a  thing  on  earth  in  which  his  pride 
was  greatest,  it  was  his  name ;  and  yet  it  was  on  the  utter- 
ance of  that  word,  "  Conyers,"  old  Barrington  turned  away 
and  left  him. 

Over  and  over  again  had  he  found  the  spell  of  his  father's 
name  and  title  opening  to  him  society,  securing  him  atten- 
tions, and  obtaining  for  him  that  recognition  and  acceptance 
which  go  so  far  to  make  life  pleasurable;  and  now  that 
word,  which  would  have  had  its  magic  at  a  palace,  fell 
powerless  and  cold  at  the  porch  of  a  humble  cottage. 

To  say  that  it  was  part  of  his  creed  to  believe  his  father 
could  do  no  wrong  is  weak.  It  was  his  whole  belief,  —  his 
entire   and  complete  conviction.     To  his    mind    his  father 


172  BAKKINGTON. 

embodied  all  that  was  noble,  high-hearted,  and  chivalrous. 
It  was  not  alone  the  testimony  of  those  who  served  under 
him  could  be  appealed  to.  All  ludia,  the  Government  at 
home,  his  own  sovereign  knew  it.  From  his  earliest  in- 
fancy he  had  listened  to  this  theme,  and  to  doubt  it  seemed 
like  to  dispute  the  fact  of  his  existence.  How  was  it,  then, 
that  this  old  man  refused  to  accept  what  the  whole  world 
had  stamped  with  its  value?  Was  it  that  he  impugned  the 
services  which  had  made  his  father's  name  famous  through- 
out the  entire  East? 

He  endeavored  to  recall  the  exact  words  Barringtou  had 
used  towards  him,  but  he  could  not  succeed.  There  was 
something,  he  thought,  about  intruding,  unwarrantably 
intruding;  or  it  might  be  a  mistaken  impression  of  the  wel- 
come that  awaited  him.  Which  was  it?  or  was  it  either  of 
them?  At  all  events,  he  saw  himself  rejected  and  repulsed, 
and  the  indignity  was  too  great  to  be  borne. 

While  he  thus  chafed  and  fretted,  hours  went  by;  and  Mr. 
M'Cabe,  the  landlord,  had  made  more  than  one  excursion 
into  the  room,  under  pretence  of  looking  after  the  fire,  or 
seeing  that  the  windows  were  duly  closed,  but,  in  reality, 
very  impatient  to  learn  his  guest's  intentions  regarding 
dinner. 

"Was  it  your  honor  said  that  you  'd  rather  have  the 
chickens  roast  than  biled?"  said  he  at  last,  in  a  very  sub- 
missive tone. 

"I  said  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Ah,  it  was  No.  5  then,  and  I  mistook ;  I  crave  your 
honor's  pardon."  Hoping  that  the  chord  he  had  thus 
touched  might  vibrate,  he  stooped  down  to  arrange  the  turf, 
and  give  time  for  the  response,  but  none  came.  Mr. 
M'Cabe  gave  a  faint  sigh,  but  returned  to  the  charge. 
"When  thei'e  's  the  laste  taste  of  south  in  the  wind,  there  's 
no  making  this  chimney  draw." 

Not  a  word  of  notice  acknowledged  this  remark. 

"  But  it  will  do  finely  yet;  it 's  just  the  outside  of  the  turf 
is  a  little  wet,  and  no  wonder;  seven  weeks  of  rain  —  glory 
be  to  Him  that  sent  it  —  has  nearly  desthroyed  us." 

Still  Conyers  vouchsafed  no  reply. 

"And  when  it  begins  to  rain  here,  it  never  laves  off.     It 


A  SHOCK.  173 

is  n't  like  in  your  honor's  country'.  Your  honor  is 
English?" 

A  grunt,  — it  might  be  assent,  it  sounded  like  malediction. 

"  'T  is  azy  seen.  When  your  honor  came  out  of  the  boat, 
I  said,  '  Shusy,'  says  I,  '  he's  English;  and  there's  a  coat 
they  couldn't  make  in  Ireland  for  a  king's  ransom.'  " 

"What  conveyances  leave  this  for  Kilkenny?"  asked 
Conyers,  sternly. 

"Just  none  at  all,  not  to  mislead  you,"  said  M'Cabe,  in  a 
voice  quite  devoid  of  its  late  whining  intonation. 

"Is  there  not  a  chaise  or  a  car  to  be  had? " 

"Sorrow  one.  Dr.  Dill  has  a  car,  to  be  sure,  but  not 
for  hire." 

"Oh,  Dr.  Dill  lives  here.  I  forgot  that.  Go  and  tell 
him  I  wish  to  see  him." 

The  landlord  withdrew  in  dogged  silence,  but  returned  in 
about  ten  minutes,  to  say  that  the  doctor  had  been  sent  for 
to  the  "Fisherman's  Home,"  and  Mr.  Barrington  was  so  ill 
it  was  not  likely  he  would  be  back  that  night. 

"So  ill,  did  you  say?"  cried  Conyers.  "What  was  the 
attack,  — what  did  they  call  it?" 

"  'T  is  some  kind  of  a  'plexy,  they  said.  He 's  a  full  man, 
and  advanced  in  years,  besides." 

"Go  and  tell  young  Mr.  Dill  to  come  over  here." 

"He  's  just  gone  off  with  the  cuppin'  instruments.  I  saw 
him  steppin'  into  the  boat." 

"Let  me  have  a  messenger;  I  want  a  man  to  take  a  note 
up  to  Miss  Barrington,  and  fetch  my  writing-desk  here." 

In  his  eager  anxiety  to  learn  how  Mr.  Barrington  was, 
Conyers  hastily  scratched  off  a  few  lines;  but  on  reading 
them  over,  he  tore  them  up:  they  implied  a  degree  of  interest 
on  his  part  which,  considering  the  late  treatment  extended 
to  him,  was  scarcely  dignified.  He  tried  again;  the  error 
was  as  marked  on  the  other  side.  It  was  a  cold  and  for- 
mal inquiry.  "And  yet,"  said  he,  as  he  tore  this  in  frag- 
ments, "one  thing  is  quite  clear,  — this  illness  is  owing  to 
me!  But  for  my  presence  there,  that  old  man  had  now 
been  hale  and  hearty;  the  impressions,  rightfully  or 
wrongfully,  which  the  sight  of  me  and  the  announcement  of 
my  name  produced  are  the  cause  of  this  malady.     I  cannot 


174  BARRINGTON. 

deny  it."  With  this  revulsion  of  feeling  he  wrote  a  short 
but  kindly  worded  note  to  Miss  Barrington,  in  which,  with 
the  very  faintest  allusion  to  himself,  he  begged  for  a  few 
lines  to  say  how  her  brother  was.  He  would  have  added 
something  about  the  sorrow  he  experienced  in  requiting 
all  her  kindness  by  this  calamitous  return,  but  he  felt  that 
if  the  case  should  be  a  serious  one,  all  reference  to  himself 
would  be  misplaced  and  impertinent. 

The  messenger  despatched,  he  sat  down  beside  his  fire, 
the  only  light  now  in  the  room,  which  the  shade  of  coming 
night  had  darkened.  He  was  sad  and  dispirited,  and  ill 
at  ease  with  his  own  heart.  Mr.  M'Cabe,  indeed,  appeared 
with  a  suggestion  about  candles,  and  a  shadowy  hint  that 
if  his  guest  speculated  of  dining  at  all,  it  was  full  time  to 
intimate  it;  but  Couyers  dismissed  him  with  a  peremptory 
command  not  to  dare  to  enter  the  room  again  until  he  was 
summoned  to  it.  So  odious  to  him  was  the  place,  the 
landlord,  and  all  about  him,  that  he  would  have  set  out  on 
foot  had  his  ankle  been  only  strong  enough  to  bear  him. 
"  What  if  he  were  to  write  to  Stapylton  to  come  and  fetch 
him  away?  He  never  liked  the  man;  he  liked  him  less 
since  the  remark  Miss  Barrrington  had  made  upon  him 
from  mere  reading  of  his  letter,  but  what  was  he  to  do?" 
While  he  was  yet  doubting  what  course  to  take,  he  heard 
the  voices  of  some  new  arrivals  outside,  and,  strange 
enough,  one  seemed  to  be  Stapylton's.  A  minute  or  two 
after,  the  travellers  had  entered  the  room  adjoining  his  own, 
and  from  which  a  very  frail  partition  of  lath  and  plaster 
alone  separated  him. 

"Well,  Barney,"  said  a  harsh,  grating  voice,  addressing 
the  landlord,  "what  have  you  got  in  the  larder?  We  mean 
to  dine  with  you." 

"To  dine  here.  Major!"  exclaimed  M'Cabe.  "Well, 
well,  wondhers  will  never  cease."  And  then  hurriedly  seek- 
ing to  cover  a  speech  not  very  flattering  to  the  Major's  habits 
of  hospitality,  "Sure,  I've  a  loin  of  pork,  and  there's  two 
chickens  and  a  trout  fresh  out  of  the  water,  and  there's 
a  cheese;  it  isn't  mine,  to  be  sure,  but  Father  Cody's,  but 
he'll  not  miss  a  slice  out  of  it;  and  barrin'  you  dined  at 
the  '  Fisherman's  Home,'  you  'd  not  get  betther." 


A  SHOCK.  175 

"That's  where  we  were  to  have  dined  by  right,"  said  the 
Major,  crankily,  —  ''myself  aud  my  friend  here,  —  but 
we  're  disappointed,  and  so  w-e  stepped  in  here,  to  do  the 
best  we  can." 

"Well,  by  all  accounts,  there  won't  be  many  dinners  up 
there  for  some  time." 

"Why  so?" 

"Ould  Barrington  was  took  with  a  fit  this  afternoon,  and 
they  say  he  won't  get  over  it." 

"How  was  it?  —  what  brought  it  on?" 

"Here's  the  way  I  had  it.  Ould  Peter  was  just  come 
home  from  Kilkenny,  aud  had  brought  the  Attorney- 
General  with  him  to  stay  a  few  days  at  the  cottage,  aud 
what  was  the  first  thing  he  seen  but  a  man  that  come  all  the 
way  from  India  with  a  writ  out  against  him  for  some  of  mad 
George  Barrington's  debts;  and  he  was  so  overcome  by  the 
shock,  that  he  fainted  away,  and  never  came  rightly  to 
himself  since." 

"This  is  simply  impossible,"  said  a  voice  Conyers  well 
knew  to  be  Stapylton's. 

"Be  that  as  it  may,  I  had  it  from  the  man  that  came  for 
the  doctor,  and  what 's  more,  he  was  just  outside  the  win- 
dow, and  could  hear  ould  Barrington  cursin'  and  swearin' 
about  the  man  that  ruined  his  son,  and  brought  his  poor 
boy  to  the  grave;  but  I'll  go  aud  look  after  your  honor's 
dinner,  for  I  know  more  about  that." 

"  I  have  a  strange  half-curiosity  to  know  the  correct  ver- 
sion of  this  story,"  said  Stapj^lton,  as  the  host  left  the  room. 
"The  doctor  is  a  friend  of  yours,  I  think.  Would  he  step 
over  here,  and  let  us  hear  the  matter  accurately  ?  " 

"He  's  up  at  the  cottage  now,  but  I  '11  get  him  to  come  in 
here  when  he  returns." 

If  Conyers  was  shocked  to  hear  how  even  this  loose  ver- 
sion of  what  had  occurred  served  to  heighten  the  anxiety 
his  own  fears  created,  he  was  also  angry  with  himself  at 
having  learned  the  matter  as  he  did.  It  was  not  in  his 
nature  to  play  the  eavesdropper,  and  he  had,  in  reality, 
heard  what  fell  between  his  neighbors,  almost  ere  he  was 
aware  of  it.  To  apprise  them,  therefore,  of  the  vicinity  of 
a  stranger,  he  coughed  and  sneezed,  poked  the  fire  noisily, 


176  BARRINGTON. 

and  moved  the  chairs  about;  but  though  the  disturbance 
served  to  prevent  him  from  hearing,  it  did  not  tend  to  im- 
press any  greater  caution  upon  them,  for  they  talked  away 
as  before,  and  more  than  once  above  the  din  of  his  own 
tumult,  he  heard  the  name  of  Barrington,  and  even  his 
own,  uttered. 

Unable  any  longer  to  suffer  the  irritation  of  a  position  so 
painful,  he  took  his  hat,  and  left  the  house.  It  was  now 
night,  and  so  dark  that  he  had  to  stand  some  minutes  on 
the  door-sill  ere  he  could  accustom  his  sight  to  the  obscurity. 
By  degrees,  however,  he  was  enabled  to  guide  his  steps,  and, 
passing  through  the  little  square,  he  gained  the  bridge;  and 
here  he  resolved  to  walk  backwards  and  forwards  till  such 
time  as  he  hoped  his  neighbors  might  have  concluded  their 
convivialities,  and  turned  homeward. 

A  thin  cold  rain  was  falling,  and  the  night  was  cheerless, 
and  without  a  star;  but  his  heart  was  heavy,  and  the 
dreariness  without  best  suited  that  within  him.  For  more 
than  an  hour  he  continued  his  lonely  walk,  tormented  by  all 
the  miseries  his  active  ingenuity  could  muster.  To  have 
brought  sorrow  and  mourning  beneath  the  roof  where  you 
have  been  sheltered  with  kindness  is  sad  enough,  but  far 
sadder  is  it  to  connect  the  calamity  you  have  caused  with 
one  dearer  to  you  than  yourself,  and  whose  innocence,  while 
assured  of,  you  cannot  vindicate.  "My  father  never 
wronged  this  man,  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  has  never 
been  unjust  to  any  one.  It  is  a  gross  injustice  to  accuse 
him!  If  Colonel  Barrington  forfeited  my  father's  friend- 
ship, who  could  doubt  where  the  fault  lay?  But  I  will  not 
leave  the  matter  questionable.  I  will  write  to  my  father 
and  ask  him  to  send  me  such  a  reply  as  may  set  the  issue 
at  rest  forever;  and  then  I  will  come  down  here,  and,  with 
my  father's  letter  in  my  hand,  say,  '  The  mention  of  my 
name  was  enough,  once  on  a  time,  to  make  you  turn  away 
from  me  on  the  very  threshold  of  your  own  door  —  '  "  When 
he  had  got  thus  far  in  his  intended  appeal,  his  ear  was  sud- 
denly struck  by  the  word  '.'Conyers,"  uttered  by  one  of  two 
men  who  had  passed  him  the  moment  before,  and  now  stood 
still  in  one  of  the  projections  of  the  bridge  to  talk.  He  as 
hastily   recognized  Dr.  Dill  as  the  speaker.     He  went  on 


A  SHOCK.  177 

thus:  "Of  course  it  -was  mere  raving,  but  one  must  bear  in 
mind  that  memory  very  often  is  the  prompter  of  these  -wan- 
derings ;  and  it  was  strange  how  persistently  he  held  to  the 
one  theme,  and  continued  to  call  out,  '  It  was  not  fair,  sir! 
It  was  not  manly!  You  know  it  yourself,  Conyers;  you 
cannot  deny  it! '  " 

"But  you  attach  no  importance  to  such  wanderings,  doc- 
tor?" asked  one  whose  deep-toned  voice  betrayed  him  to 
be  Stapylton. 

"I  do;  that  is,  to  the  extent  I  have  mentioned.  They  are 
incohereucies,  but  they  are  not  without  some  foundation. 
This  Conyers  may  have  had  his  share  in  that  famous  accu- 
sation against  Colonel  Barrington,  —  that  well-known  charge 
I  told  you  of;  and  if  so,  it  is  easy  to  connect  the  name 
with  these  ravings." 

"And  the  old  man  will  die  of  this  attack,"  said  Stapj'l- 
ton,  half  musingly. 

"I  hope  not.  He  has  great  vigor  of  constitution;  and 
old  as  he  is,  I  think  he  will  rub  through  it." 

"Young  Conyers  left  for  Kilkenny,  then,  immediately?" 
asked  he. 

"No;  he  came  down  here,  to  the  village.  He  is  now  at 
the  inn." 

"At  the  inn,  here?  I  never  knew  that.  I  am  sorry  I  was 
not  aware  of  it,  doctor;  but  since  it  is  so,  I  will  ask  of  you 
not  to  speak  of  having  seen  me  here.  He  would  naturally 
take  it  ill,  as  his  brother  officer,  that  I  did  not  make  him 
out,  while,  as  you  see,  I  was  totally  ignorant  of  his 
vicinity." 

"I  will  say  nothing  on  the  subject,  Captain,"  said  the 
doctor.  "And  now  one  word  of  advice  from  you  on  a  per- 
sonal matter.  This  young  gentleman  has  offered  to  be  of 
service  to  my  son  —  " 

Conyers,  hitherto  spellbound  while  the  interest  attached 
to  his  father,  now  turned  hastily  from  the  spot  and  walked 
away,  his  mind  not  alone  charged  with  a  heavy  care,  but 
full  of  an  eager  anxiety  as  to  wherefore  Stapylton  should 
have  felt  so  deeply  interested  in  Barrington's  illness,  and 
the  causes  that  led  to  it,  —  Stapylton,  the  most  selfish  of 
men,  and  the  very  last  in  the  world  to  busy  himself  in  the 

VOL.    I.  —  12 


178  BARRINGTOX. 

sorrows  or  misfortunes  of  a  stranger.  Again,  too,  why  had 
he  desired  the  doctor  to  preserve  his  presence  there  as  a 
secret?  Con3'er8  was  exactly  in  the  frame  of  mind  to  exag- 
gerate a  suspicion,  or  make  a  mere  doubt  a  grave  question. 
While  he  thus  mused,  Stapyltou  and  the  doctor  passed  him 
on  their  way  towards  the  village,  deep  in  converse,  and,  to 
all  seeming,  in  closest  confidence. 

"Shall  I  follow  him  to  the  inn,  and  declare  that  I  over- 
heard a  few  words  on  the  bridge  which  give  me  a  claim  to 
explanation?  Shall  I  say,  'Captain  Stapylton,  you  spoke 
of  my  father,  just  now,  sufficiently  aloud  to  be  overheard  by 
me  as  I  passed,  and  in  your  tone  there  was  that  which 
entitles  me  to  question  you  ?  Then  if  he  should  say,  '  Go  on ; 
what  is  it  you  ask  for?'  shall  I  not  be  sorely  puzzled  to  con- 
tinue? Perhaps,  too,  he  might  remind  me  that  the  mode  in 
which  I  obtained  my  information  precludes  even  a  reference 
to  it.  He  is  one  of  those  fellows  not  to  throw  away  such  an 
advantage,  and  I  must  prepare  myself  for  a  quarrel.  Oh, 
if  I  only  had  Hunter  by  me!  What  would  I  not  give  for  the 
brave  Colonel's  counsel  at  such  a  moment  as  this?  " 

Of  this  sort  were  his  thoughts  as  he  strolled  up  and  down 
for  hours,  wearing  away  the  long  "night  watches,"  till  a 
faint  grayish  tinge  above  the  horizon  showed  that  morning 
was  not  very  distant.  The  whole  landscape  was  wrapped 
in  that  cold  mysterious  tint  in  which  tower  and  hill-top  and 
spire  are  scarcely  distinguishable  from  each  other,  while 
out  of  the  low-lying  meadows  already  arose  the  bluish  vapor 
that  proclaims  the  coming  day.  The  village  itself,  over- 
shadowed by  the  mountain  behind  it,  lay  a  black,  unbroken 
mass. 

Not  a  light  twinkled  from  a  window,  save  close  to  the 
river's  bank,  where  a  faint  gleam  stole  forth  and  flickered 
on  the  Avater. 

Who  has  not  felt  the  sti-ange  interest  that  attaches  to  a 
solitary  light  seen  thus  in  the  tranquil  depth  of  a  silent  night? 
How  readily  do  we  associate  it  with  some  incident  of  sor- 
row! The  watcher  beside  the  sick-bed  rises  to  the  mind,  or 
the  patient  sufferer  himself  trying  to  cheat  the  dull  hours  by 
a  book,  or  perhaps  some  poor  son  of  toil  arising  to  his 
daily  round  of  labor,  and  seated  at  that  solitary  meal  which 


A  SHOCK.  179 

no  kind  word  enlivens,  no  companionship  beguiles.  And 
as  I  write,  in  what  corner  of  earth  are  not  such  scenes  pass- 
ing,"—  such  dark  shadows  moving  over  the  battlefield  of 
life? 

In  such  a  feeling  did  Conyers  watch  this  light  as,  leaving 
the  high-road,  he  took  a  path  that  led  along  the  river 
towards  it.  As  he  drew  nigher,  he  saw  that  the  light  came 
from  the  open  window  of  a  room  which  gave  upon  a  little 
garden,  —  a  mere  strip  of  ground  fenced  off  from  the  path 
by  a  low  paling.  With  a  curiosit}^  he  could  not  master,  he 
stopped  and  looked  in.  At  a  large  table,  covered  with 
books  and  papers,  and  on  which  a  skull  also  stood,  a  young 
man  was  seated,  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  apparently  in 
deep  thought,  while  a  girl  was  slowly  pacing  the  little  cham- 
ber as  she  talked  to  him. 

"It  does  not  require,"  said  she,  in  a  firm  voice,  "any 
great  effort  of  memory  to  bear  in  •  mind  that  a  nerve,  an 
artery,  and  a  vein  always  go  in  company." 

"Not  for  you,  perhaps,  —  not  for  you,  Polly." 

"Not  for  any  one,  I  'm  sure.  Your  fine  dragoon  friend 
with  the  sprained  ankle  might  be  brought  to  that  amount  of 
instruction  by  one  telling  of  it." 

"Oh,  he's  no  fool,  I  promise  you,  Polly.  Don't  despise 
him  because  he  has  plenty  of  money  and  can  lead  a  life  of 
idleness." 

"I  neither  despise  nor  esteem  him,  nor  do  I  mean  that  he 
should  divert  our  minds  from  what  we  are  at.  Now  for 
the  popliteal  space.  Can  you  describe  it?  Do  you  know 
where  it  is,  or  anything  about  it?  " 

"I  do,"  said  he,  doggedly,  as  he  pushed  his  long  hair  back 
from  his  eyes,  and  tried  to  think,  — "I  do,  but  I  must  have 
time.     You  mustn't  hurry  me." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  continued  her  walk  in  silence. 

"I  know  all  about  it,  Polly,  but  I  can't  describe  it.  I 
can't  describe  anything;  but  ask  me  a  question  about  it." 

"Where  is  it,  — where  does  it  lie?" 

"Isn't  it  at  the  lower  third  of  the  humerus,  where  the 
flexors  divide?" 

"You  are  too  bad,  —  too  stupid!"  cried  she,  angrily. 
"  I  cannot  believe  that  anything  short  of  a  purpose,  a  deter- 


180  BARKINGTON. 

miualion  to  be  ignorant,  could  make  a  person  so  unteach- 
able.  If  we  have  gone  over  this  once,  we  liave  done  so  fifty 
times.     It  haunts  me  in  my  sleep,  from  very  iteration." 

"  I  wish  it  would  haunt  me  a  little  when  I  'm  awake,"  said 
he,  sulkily. 

"And  when  may  that  be,  I'd  like  to  know?  Do  you 
fancy,  sir,  that  your  present  state  of  intelligence  is  a  very 
vigilant  one  ?  " 

' '  I  know  one  thing.  I  hope  there  w^on't  be  the  like  of 
you  on  the  Court  of  Examiners,  for  I  would  n't  bear  the 
half  of  what  you  've  said  to  me  from  another." 

"  Rejection  will  be  harder  to  bear,  Tom.  To  be  sent 
back  as  ignorant  and  incapable  will  be  far  heavier  as  a 
punishment  than  an}'  words  of  mine.  What  are  you  laugh- 
ing'at,  sir?     Is  it  a  matter  of  mirth  to  you? " 

"  Look  at  the  skull,  Polly,  — look  at  the  skull."  And  he 
pointed  to  where  he  had  stuck  his  short,  black  pipe,  between 
the  grinning  teeth  of  the  skeleton. 

She  snatched  it  angrily  away,  and  threw  it  out  of  the 
window,  saying,  "You  may  be  ignorant,  and  not  be  able  to 
help  it.     I  will  take  care  3'ou  shall  not  be  irreverent,  sir." 

"There's  my  short  clay  gone,  anyhow,"  said  Tom,  sub- 
missively, "and  I  think  I '11  go  to  bed."  And  he  yawned 
drearily  as  be  spoke. 

"  Not  till  you  have  done  this,  if  we  sit  here  till  break- 
fast-time," said  she,  resolutely.  "There's  the  plate,  and 
there  's  the  reference.     Read  it  till  you  know  it ! " 

"  What  a  slave-driver  you  'd  make,  Polly  !  "  said  he,  with 
a  half-bitter  smile. 

"  What  a  slave  I  am ! "  said  she,  turning  away  her 
head. 

"That's  true,"  cried  he,  in  a  voice  thick  with  emotion; 
"  and  when  I  'm  thousands  of  miles  away,  I  '11  be  longing 
to  hear  the  bitterest  words  you  ever  said  to  me,  rather  than 
never  see  you  any  more." 

"My  poor  brother,"  said  she,  laying  her  hand  softly  on 
his  rough  head,  "  I  never  doubted  your  heart,  and  I  ought 
to  be  better  tempered  with  you,  and  I  will.  Come,  now, 
Tom,"  —  and  she  seated  herself  at  the  table  next  him, — 
"  see,  now,  if  I  cannot  make  this  easy  to  you."     And  then 


A  SHOCK. 


181 


the  two  heads  were  bent  together  over  the  table,  and  the  soft 
brown  hair  of  the  gii'l  half  mingled  with  the  rough  wool  of 
the  graceless  numskull  beside  her. 

"I  will  stand  by  him,  if  it  were  only  for  lier  sake,"  said 
Conyers  to  himself.  And  he  stole  slowly  away,  and  gained 
the  inn. 


So  intent  upon  his  purpose  was  he  that  he  at  once  set 
about  its  fulfilment.  He  began  a  long  letter  to  his  father, 
and,  touching  slightly  on  the  accident  by  which  he  made 
Dr.  Dill's  acquaintance,  professed  to  be  deeply  his  debtor 
for  kindness  and  attention.  With  this  prelude  he  introduced 
Tom.  Hitherto  his  pen  had  glided  along  flippantly  enougli. 
In  that  easy  mixture  of  fact  and  fancy  by  which  he  opened 


182  BARRINGTON. 

his  case,  no  grave  difficulty  presented  itself ;  but  Tom  was 
now  to  be  presented,  and  the  task  was  about  as  puzzling  as 
it  would  have  been  to  have  conducted  hiui  bodily  into 
society. 

"  I  was  ungenerous  enough  to  be  prejudiced  against  this 
poor  fellow  when  I  first  met  him,"  wrote  he.  "Neither 
his  figure  nor  his  manners  are  in  his  favor,  and  in  his  very 
dillidence  there  is  an  apparent  rudeness  and  forwardness 
which  are  not  really  in  his  nature.  These,  however,  are  not 
mistakes  you,  my  dear  father,  will  fall  into.  With  your 
own  quickness  you  will  see  what  sterling  qualities  exist 
beneath  this  rugged  outside,  and  you  will  befriend  him  at 
first  for  my  sake.  Later  on,  I  trust  he  will  open  his  own 
account  in  your  heart.  Bear  in  mind,  too,  that  it  was  all 
my  scheme,  —  the  whole  plan  mine.  It  was  I  persuaded 
him  to  try  his  luck  in  India ;  it  was  through  me  he  made  the 
venture ;  and  if  the  poor  fellow  fail,  all  the  fault  will  fall 
back  upon  me."  From  this  he  went  into  little  details  of 
Tom's  circumstances,  and  the  narrow  means  by  which  he 
was  surrounded,  adding  how  humble  he  was,  and  how  ready 
to  be  satisfied  with  the  most  moderate  livelihood.  "  In  that 
great  wide  world  of  the  East,  what  scores  of  things  there 
must  be  for  such  a  fellow  to  do;  and  even  should  he  not 
turn  out  to  be  a  S3'denham  or  a  Harvey,  he  might  administer 
justice,  or  collect  revenue,  or  assist  in  some  other  way  the 
process  of  that  system  which  we  call  the  British  rule  in 
India.  In  a  word,  get  him  something  he  may  live  by,  and 
be  able,  in  due  time,  to  help  those  he  has  left  behind  here,  in 
a  land  whose  •  Paddy-fields '  are  to  the  full  as  pauperized  as 
those  of  Bengal." 

He  had  intended,  ha^ing  disposed  of  Tom  Dill's  case,  to 
have  addressed  some  lines  to  his  father  about  the  Barring- 
tons,  sufl3ciently  vague  to  be  easily  answered  if  the  subject 
were  one  distasteful  or  unpleasing  to  him ;  but  just  as  he 
reached  the  place  to  open  this,  he  was  startled  by  the  arrival 
of  a  jaunting-car  at  the  inn-door,  whose  driver  stopped  to 
take  a  drink.  It  was  a  chance  conveyance,  returning  to 
Kilkenny,  and  Conyers  at  once  engaged  it;  and,  leaving  an 
order  to  send  on  the  reply  when  it  arrived  from  the  cottage, 
he  wrote  a  hasty  note  to  Tom  Dill  and  departed.     This  note 


A  SHOCK.  183 

was  simply  to  say  that  he  had  already  fulfilled  his  promise  of 
interesting  his  father  in  his  behalf,  and  that  whenever  Tom 
had  passed  his  examination,  and  was  in  readiness  for  his 
voyage,  he  should  come  or  write  to  him,  and  he  would  find 
him  fully  disposed  to  serve  and  befriend  him.  "Mean- 
while," wrote  he,  "  let  me  hear  of  you.  I  am  really  anxious 
to  learn  how  you  acquit  yourself  at  the  ordeal,  for  which  you 
have  the  cordial  good  wishes  of  your  friend,  F.  Conyers." 

Oh,  if  the  great  men  of  our  acquaintance  —  and  we  all  of 
us,  no  matter  how  hermit-like  we  may  live,  have  our  "  great 
men  "  —  could  only  know  and  feel  what  ineffable  pleasure 
will  sometimes  be  derived  from  the  chance  expressions  they 
employ  towards  us, —  words  which,  little  significant  in  them- 
selves, perhaps  have  some  touch  of  good  fellowship  or  good 
feeling,  now  reviving  a  "bygone,"  now  far-seeing  a  future, 
tenderly  thrilling  through  us  by  some  little  allusion  to  a  trick 
of  our  temperament,  noted  and  observed  by  one  in  whose 
interest  we  never  till  then  knew  we  had  a  share, —  if,  I  say, 
they  were  but  aware  of  this,  how  delightful  they  might  make 
themselves  !  —  what  charming  friends !  —  and,  it  is  but  fair 
to  own,  what  dangerous  patrons ! 

I  leave  my  reader  to  apply  the  reflection  to  the  case  before 
him,  and  then  follow  me  to  the  pleasant  quarters  of  a  well- 
maintained  country-house,  full  of  guests  and  abounding  in 
gayety. 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

COBHAM. 

My  reader  is  already  aware  that  I  am  telling  of  some  forty 
years  ago,  and  therefore  I  have  no  apologies  to  make  for 
habits  and  ways  which  our  more  polished  age  has  pronounced 
barbarous.  Now,  at  Cobham,  the  men  sat  after  dinner  over 
their  wine  when  the  ladies  had  withdrawn,  and,  I  grieve  to 
say,  fulfilled  this  usage  with  a  zest  and  enjoyment  that 
unequivocally  declared  it  to  be  the  best  hour  of  the  whole 
twenty-four. 

Friends  could  now  get  together,  conversation  could  range 
over  personalities,  egotisms  have  their  day,  and  bygones  be 
disinterred  without  need  of  an  explanation.  Few,  indeed, 
who  did  not  unbend  at  such  a  moment,  and  relax  in  that 
genial  atmosphere  begotten  of  closed  curtains,  and  comfort, 
and  good  claret.  I  am  not  so  certain  that  we  are  wise  in  our 
utter  abandonment  of  what  must  have  often  conciliated  a 
difference  or  reconciled  a  grudge.  How  many  a  lurking  dis- 
content, too  subtle  for  intervention,  must  have  been  dissi- 
pated in  the  general  burst  of  a  common  laugh,  or  the  racy 
enjoyment  of  a  good  story !  Decidedly  the  decanter  has 
often  played  peacemaker,  though  popular  prejudice  inclines 
to  give  it  a  different  mission. 

On  the  occasion  to  which  I  would  now  invite  my  reader, 
the  party  were  seated  —  by  means  of  that  genial  discovery, 
a  horseshoe-table — around  the  fire  at  Cobham.  It  was  a 
true  country-house  society  of  neighbors  who  knew  each 
other  well,  sprinkled  with  guests,  —  strangers  to  every  one. 
There  were  all  ages  and  all  temperaments,  from  the  hardy 
old  squire,  whose  mellow  cheer  was  known  at  the  fox-cover, 
to  the  3'oung  heir  fresh  from  Oxford  and  loud  about  Leices- 
tershire;  gentlemen-farmers  and  sportsmen,  and  parsons  and 


COBHAM.  185 

soldiers,  blended  together  with  just  enough  disparity  of  pur- 
suit to  season  talk  and  freshen  experiences. 

The  conversation,  which  for  a  while  was  partly  on  sport- 
ing matters,  varied  with  little  episodes  of  personal  achieve- 
ment, and  those  little  boastings  which  end  in  a  bet,  was 
suddenly  interrupted  by  a  hasty  call  for  Dr.  Dill,  who  was 
wanted  at  the  "  Fisherman's  Home." 

"Can't  you  stay  to  finish  this  bottle,  Dill?"  said  the 
Admiral,  who  had  not  heard  for  whom  he  had  been  sent. 

"  I  fear  not,  sir.     It  is  a  long  row  down  to  the  cottage." 

"  So  it 's  poor  Barriugton  again  !  I  'm  sincerely  sorry  for 
it!  And  now  I'll  not  ask  you  to  delay.  By  the  way,  take 
my  boat.  Elwes,"  said  he  to  the  servant,  "tell  the  men  to 
get  the  boat  ready  at  once  for  Dr.  Dill,  and  come  and  say 
when  it  is  so." 

The  doctor's  gratitude  was  profuse,  though  probably  a 
dim  vista  of  the  "tip"  that  might  be  expected  from  him 
detracted  from  the  fulness  of  the  enjoyment. 

"Find  out  if  I  could  be  of  any  use.  Dill,"  whispered  the 
Admiral,  as  the  doctor  arose.  "  Your  own  tact  will  show  if 
there  be  anything  I  could  do.  You  understand  me ;  I  have 
the  deepest  regard  for  old  Barrington,  and  his  sister  too." 

Dill  promised  to  give  his  most  delicate  attention  to  the 
point,  and  departed. 

"VThile  this  little  incident  was  occurring,  Stapylton,  who 
sat  at  an  angle  of  the  fireplace,  was  amusing  two  or  three 
listeners  by  an  account  of  his  intended  dinner  at  the 
"  Home,"  and  the  haughty  refusal  of  Miss  Barrington  to 
receive  him. 

"You  must  tell  Sir  Charles  the  story!"  cried  out  Mr. 
Bushe.  "He'll  soon  recognize  the  old  Major  from  your 
imitation  of  him." 

"  Hang  the  old  villain !  he  shot  a  dog-fox  the  other  morn- 
ing, and  he  knows  well  how  scarce  they  are  getting  in  the 
country,"  said  another. 

"  I  '11  never  forgive  myself  for  letting  him  have  a  lease  of 
that  place,"  said  a  third  ;  "  he  's  a  disgrace  to  the  neighbor- 
hood." 

"You're  not  talking  of  Barrington,  surely,"  called  out 
Sir  Charles. 


186  BARllINGTON. 

"Of  course  not.  I  was  speaking  of  M'Cormick.  Bar- 
ringtou  is  another  stamp  of  man,  and  liere  's  his  good 
health ! " 

"He'll  need  all  your  best  wishes,  Jack,"  said  the  host, 
"for  Dr.  Dill  has  just  been  called  away  to  see  him." 

"To  see  old  Peter!  Why,  I  never  knew  him  to  have  a 
day's  illness !  " 

"He's  dangerously  ill  now,"  said  the  Admiral,  gravel}'. 
"  Dill  tells  me  that  he  came  home  from  the  Assizes  hale  and 
hearty,  in  high  spirits  at  some  verdict  in  his  favor,  and 
brought  back  the  Attorney-General  to  spend  a  day  or  two 
with  him ;  but  that,  on  arriving,  he  found  a  young  fellow 
whose  father  or  grandfather  —  for  I  have  n't  it  correctly  — 
had  been  concerned  in  some  way  against  George  Harrington, 
and  that  high  words  passed  between  old  Peter  and  this  youth, 
who  was  turned  out  on  the  spot,  while  poor  Harrington,  over- 
come by  emotion,  was  sti'uck  down  with  a  sort  of  paralysis. 
As  I  have  said,  I  don't  know  the  story  accurately,  for  even 
Dill  himself  only  picked  it  up  from  the  servants  at  the  cot- 
tage, neither  Miss  Barrington  nor  Withering  having  told  him 
one  word  on  the  subject." 

"  That  is  the  very  same  story  I  heard  at  the  village  where 
we  dined,"  broke  in  Stapylton,  "and  M'Cormick  added  that 
he  remembered  the  name.  Conyers  —  the  young  man  is 
called  Conyers  —  did  occur  in  a  certain  famous  accusation 
against  Colonel  Barrington." 

"Well,  but,"  interposed  Bushe,  "isn't  all  that  an  old 
story  now?  Is  n't  the  whole  thing  a  matter  of  twenty  years 
ago?" 

"  Not  so  much  as  that,"  said  Sir  Charles.  "  I  remember 
reading  it  all  when  I  was  in  command  of  the  '  Madagascar,'  — 
I  forget  the  exact  year,  but  I  was  at  Corfu." 

"  At  all  events,"  said  Bushe,  "  it 's  long  enough  past  to  be 
forgotten  or  forgiven  ;  and  old  Peter  was  the  very  last  man 
I  could  ever  have  supposed  likely  to  carry  on  an  ancient 
grudge  against  any  one." 

"  Not  where  his  son  was  concerned.  Wherever  George's 
name  entered,  forgiveness  of  the  man  that  wronged  him  was 
impossible,"  said  another. 

"  You  are  scarcely  just  to  my  old  friend,"  interposed  the 


I 


COBHAM.  187 

Admiral.  "  First  of  all,  we  have  not  the  facts  before  us. 
Many  of  us  here  have  never  seen,  some  have  never  heard  of 
the  great  Barrington  Inquir}',  and  of  such  as  have,  if  their 
memories  be  not  better  than  mine,  they  can't  discuss  the 
matter  with  much  profit." 

'"I  followed  the  case  when  it  occurred,"  chimed  in  the 
former  speaker,  "but  I  own,  with  Sir  Charles,  that  it  has 
gone  clean  out  of  my  head  since  that  time." 

"You  talk  of  injustice,  Cobham,  injustice  to  old  Peter 
Barrington,"  said  an  old  man  from  the  end  of  the  table; 
"but  I  would  ask,  are  we  quite  just  to  poor  George?  I  knew 
him  well.  My  son  served  in  the  same  regiment  with  him 
before  he  went  out  to  India,  and  no  finer  nor  nobler-hearted 
fellow  than  George  Barrington  ever  lived.  Talk  of  him 
ruining  his  father  by  his  extravagance!  Why,  he'd  have 
cut  off  his  right  hand  rather  than  caused  him  one  pang,  one 
moment  of  displeasure.  Barrington  ruined  himself;  that 
insane  passion  for  law  has  cost  him  far  more  than  half  what 
he  was  worth  in  the  world.  Ask  Withering;  he  '11  tell  you 
something  about  it.  Why,  Withering's  own  fees  in  that 
case  before  '  the  Lords  '  amount  to  upwards  of  two  thousand 
guineas." 

"I  won't  dispute  the  question  with  you,  Fowndes,"  said 
the  Admiral.  "Scandal  says  j^ou  have  a  taste  for  a  trial 
at  bar  yourself." 

The  hit  told,  and  called  for  a  hearty  laugh,  in  which 
Fowndes  himself  joined  freely. 

"J'7?i  a  burned  child,  however,  and  keep  away  from  the 
fire,"  said  he,  good-humoredly ;  "but  old  Peter  seems  rather 
to  like  being  singed.  There  he  is  again  with  his  Privy 
Council  case  for  next  term,  and  with,  I  suppose,  as  much 
chance  of  success  as  I  should  have  in  a  suit  to  recover  a 
Greek  estate  of  some  of  my  Phcenician  ancestors." 

It  was  not  a  company  to  sympathize  deeply  with  such  a 
litigious  spirit.  The  hearty  and  vigorous  tone  of  squire- 
dom, young  and  old,  could  not  understand  it  as  a  passion 
or  a  pursuit,  and  they  mainly  agreed  that  nothing  but  some 
strange  perversion  could  have  made  the  generous  nature  of 
old  Barrington  so  fond  of  law.  Gradual!}^  the  younger 
members  of  the  party  slipped  away  to  the  drawing-room,  till. 


188  BARRINGTON. 

in  the  changes  that  ensued,  Stapylton  found  himself  next  to 
Mr.  Fowndes. 

"I'm  glad  to  see,  Captain,"  said  the  old  squire,  "that 
modern  fashion  of  deserting  the  claret-jug  has  not  invaded 
your  mess.     I  own  I  like  a  man  who  lingers  over  his  wine." 

"We  have  no  pretext  for  leaving  it,  remember  that,"  said 
Stapylton,  smiling. 

"Very  true.  The  p^aceus  uxor  is  sadly  out  of  place  in  a 
soldier's  life.  Your  married  officer  is  but  a  sorry  comrade; 
besides,  how  is  a  fellow  to  be  a  hero  to  the  enemy  who  is 
daily  bullied  by  his  wife?" 

"I  think  you  said  that  you  had  sei-ved?"  interposed 
Stapylton. 

"No.  My  son  was  in  the  army;  he  is  so  still,  but  holds 
a  Governorship  in  the  West  Indies.  He  it  was  who  knew 
this  Barrington  we  were  speaking  of." 

"Just  so,"  said  Stapylton,  drawing  his  chair  closer,  so  as 
to  converse  more  confidentially. 

"You  may  imagine  what  very  uneventful  lives  we  country 
gentlemen  live,"  said  the  old  squire,  "when  we  can  con- 
tinue to  talk  over  one  memorable  case  for  something  like 
twenty  years,  just  because  one  of  the  parties  to  it  was  our 
neighbor." 

"You  appear  to  have  taken  a  lively  interest  in  it,"  said 
Stapylton,  who  rightly  conjectured  it  was  a  favorite  theme 
with  the  old  squire. 

"Yes.  Barrington  and  my  son  were  friends;  they  came 
down  to  my  house  together  to  shoot ;  and  with  all  his  eccen- 
tricities—  and  they  were  many  —  I  liked  Mad  George,  as 
the}'  called  him." 

"He  was  a  good  fellow,  then?" 

"A  thoroughly  good  fellow,  but  the  shyest  that  ever  lived; 
to  all  outward  seeming  rough  and  careless,  but  sensitive  as 
a  woman  all  the  while.  He  would  have  walked  up  to  a 
cannon's  mouth  with  a  calm  step,  but  an  affecting  story 
would  bring  tears  to  his  eyes;  and  then,  to  cover  this  weak- 
ness, which  he  was  well  ashamed  of,  he  'd  rush  into  fifty 
follies  and  extravagances.  As  he  said  himself  to  me  one 
day,  alluding  to  some  feat  of  rash  absurdity,  '  I  have  been 
taking  another  inch  off  the  dog's  tail,'  — he  referred  to  the 


COBHAM.  189 

story  of  Alcibiades,  who  docked  his  dog  to  take  off  public 
attention  from  his  heavier  transgressions." 

"There  was  no  truth  in  these  accusations  against  him?  " 

"Who  knows  ?  George  was  a  passionate  fellow,  and  he  'd 
have  made  short  work  of  the  man  that  angered  him.  I  my- 
self never  so  entirely  acquitted  him  as  many  who  loved  him 
less.  At  all  events,  he  was  hardly  treated ;  he  was  regularly 
hunted  down.  I  imagine  he  must  have  made  many  enemies, 
for  witnesses  sprung  up  against  him  on  all  sides,  and  he 
was  too  proud  a  fellow  to  ask  for  one  single  testimony  in 
his  favor!  If  ever  a  man  met  death  broken-hearted,  he 
did !  " 

A  pause  of  several  minutes  occurred,  after  which  the  old 
squire  resumed,  — 

"My  son  told  me  that  after  Barriugton's  death  there  was 
a  strong  revulsion  in  his  favor,  and  a  great  feeling  that  he 
had  been  hardly  dealt  by.  Some  of  the  Supreme  Council,  it 
is  said,  too,  were  disposed  to  behave  generously  towards 
his  child,  but  old  Peter,  in  an  evil  hour,  would  hear  of 
nothing  short  of  restitution  of  all  the  territory,  and  a  regular 
rehabilitation  of  George's  memory,  besides;  in  fact,  he 
made  the  most  extravagant  demands,  and  disgusted  the  two 
or  three  who  were  kindly  and  well  disposed  towards  his 
cause.  Had  the}',  indeed,  —  as  he  said,  —  driven  his  son  to 
desperation,  he  could  scarcely'  ask  them  to  declare  it  to  the 
world;  and  yet  nothing  short  of  this  would  satisfy  him! 
'  Come  forth,'  wrote  he,  —  I  read  the  letter  myself,  — '  come 
forth  and  confess  that  your  evidence  was  forged  and  your 
witnesses  suborned ;  that  you  wanted  to  annex  the  territory, 
and  the  only  road  to  your  object  was  to  impute  treason  to  the 
most  loyal  heart  that  ever  served  the  King! '  Imagine  what 
chance  of  favorable  consideration  remained  to  the  man  who 
penned  such  words  as  these." 

"And  he  prosecutes  the  case  still?" 

"Ay,  and  will  do  to  the  day  of  his  death.  Withering  — 
who  was  an  old  schoolfellow  of  mine  —  has  got  me  to  try 
what  I  could  do  to  persuade  him  to  come  to  some  terms; 
and,  indeed,  to  do  old  Peter  justice,  it  is  not  the  money 
part  of  the  matter  he  is  so  obstinate  about;  it  is  the  ques- 
tion of  what  he  calls  George's  fair  fame  and  honor;  and  one 


190  BAKRIXGTON. 

cannot  exactly  say  to  him,  '  AVho  on  earth  cares  a  brass  but- 
ton whether  George  Barrington  was  a  rebel  or  a  true  man? 
Whether  he  deserved  to  die  an  independent  Rajah  of  some 
place  with  a  hard  name,  or  the  loyal  subject  of  his  Majesty 
George  the  Third?'  I  own  I,  one  day,  did  go  so  close  to 
the  wind,  on  that  subject,  that  the  old  man  started  up  and 
said,  '  I  hope  I  misapprehend  you,  Harry  Fowndes.  I  hope 
sincerely  that  I  do  so,  for  if  not,  I  '11  have  a  shot  at  you,  as 
sure  as  my  name  is  Peter  Barrington. '  Of  course  I  '  tried 
back  '  at  once,  and  assured  him  it  was  a  pure  misconception 
of  my  meaning,  and  that  until  the  East  India  folk  fairly 
acknowledged  that  they  had  wronged  his  son,  he  could  not, 
with  honor,  approach  the  question  of  a  compromise  in  the 
money  matter." 

"That  day,  it  may  be  presumed,  is  very  far  off,"  said 
Stapylton,  half  languidly. 

"Well,  Withering  opines  not.  He  says  that  they  are 
weary  of  the  whole  case.  They  have  had,  perhaps,  some 
misgivings  as  to  the  entire  justice  of  what  they  did.  Per- 
haps they  have  learned  something  during  the  course  of  the 
proceedings  which  may  have  influenced  their  judgment;  and 
not  impossible  is  it  that  they  pity  the  old  man  fighting  out 
his  life;  and  perhaps,  too,  Barrington  himself  may  have 
softened  a  little,  since  he  has  begun  to  feel  that  his  grand- 
daughter—  for  George  left  a  child  —  had  interests  which 
his  own  indignation  could  not  rightfully  sacrifice;  so  that 
amongst  all  these  perhapses,  who  knows  but  some  happy 
issue  may  come  at  last?" 

"That  Barrington  race  is  not  a  very  pliant  one,"  said 
Stapylton,  half  dreamily;  and  then,  in  some  haste,  added, 
"at  least,  such  is  the  character  they  give  them  here." 

"Some  truth  there  may  be  in  that.  Men  of  a  strong  tem- 
perament and  with  a  large  share  of  self-dependence  gener- 
ally get  credit  from  the  world  for  obstinacy,  just  because  the 
road  they  see  out  of  difficulties  is  not  the  popular  one.  But 
even  with  all  this,  I  'd  not  call  old  Peter  self-willed ;  at  least. 
Withering  tells  me  that  from  time  to  time,  as  he  has  con- 
veyed to  him  the  opinions  and  experiences  of  old  Indian 
officers,  some  of  whom  had  either  met  with  or  heard  of 
George,  he  has  listened  with  much  and  even  respectful  atten* 


COBHAJVL  191 

tion.  Anct  as  all  their  counsels  have  gone  against  his 
own  convictions,  it  is  something  to  give  them  a  patient 
hearing." 

"He  has  thus  permitted  strangers  to  come  and  speak  with 
him  on  these  topics  ?  "  asked  Stapylton,  eagerly. 

"No,  no,  — not  he.     These  men  had  called  on  AYithering, 

—  met  him,  perhaps,  in  society, — heard  of  his  interest  in 
George  Barrington's  case,  and  came  good-naturedly  to 
volunteer  a  word  of  counsel  in  favor  of  an  old  comrade. 
Nothing  more  natural,  I  think." 

"Nothing.  I  quite  agree  with  you;  so  much  so,  indeed, 
that  having  served  some  years  in  India,  and  in  close  prox- 
imity, too,  to  one  of  the  native  courts,  I  was  going  to  ask 
you  to  present  me  to  your  friend  Mr.  AVithering,  as  one  not 
altogether  incapable  of  affording  him  some  information." 

"With  a  heart  and  a  half.     I  '11  do  it." 

"I  say,  Harry,"  cried  out  the  host,  "if  you  and  Captain 
Stapylton  will  neither  fill  your  glasses  nor  pass  the  wine, 
I  think  we  had  better  join  the  ladies." 

And  now  there  was  a  general  move  to  the  drawing-room, 
where  several  evening  guests  had  already  assembled,  making 
a  somewhat  numerous  company.     Polly  Dill  was  there,  too, 

—  not  the  wearied-looking,  careworn  figure  we  last  saw  her, 
when  her  talk  was  of  "dead  anatomies,"  but  the  lively,  spark- 
ling, bright-eyed  Polly,  who  sang  the  Melodies  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  him  who  could  make  every  note  thrill  with  the 
sentiment  his  own  genius  had  linked  to  it.  I  half  wish  I 
had  not  a  story  to  tell,  — that  is,  that  I  had  not  a  certain 
road  to  take,  — that  I  might  wander  at  will  through  bj^-path 
and  lane,  and  linger  on  the  memories  thus  by  a  chance 
awakened!  Ah,  it  was  no  small  triumph  to  lift  out  of 
obscure  companionship  and  vulgar  associations  the  music 
of  our  land,  and  wed  it  to  words  immortal,  to  show  us  that 
the  pebble  at  our  feet  was  a  gem  to  be  worn  on  the  neck  of 
beauty,  and  to  prove  to  us,  besides,  that  our  language  could 
be  as  lyrical  as  Anacreon's  own! 

"I  am  enchanted  with  your  singing,"  whispered  Stapylton, 
in  Polly's  ear;  "but  I  'd  forego  all  the  enjoyment  not  to  see 
you  so  pleased  with  your  companion.  I  begin  to  detest  the 
little  Poet." 


192  BARRINGTON. 

"I  '11  tell  him  so,"  said  she,  half  gravely;  "and  he  '11  know 
well  that  it  is  the  coarse  hate  of  the  Saxon." 

"I'm  no  Saxon!"  said  he,  flushing  and  darkening  at  the 
same  time.  And  then,  recovering  his  calm,  he  added, 
"There  are  no  Saxons  left  amongst  us,  nor  anj^  Celts  for  us 
to  honor  with  our  contempt;  but  come  away  from  the  piano, 
and  don't  let  him  fancy  he  has  bound  you  by  a  spell." 

"But  he  has,"  said  she,  eagerly, — "he  has,  and  I  don't 
care  to  break  it." 

But  the  little  Poet,  running  his  fingers  lightly  over  the 
keys,  warbled  out,  in  a  half-plaintive  whisper,  — 

"Oh,  tell  me,  dear  Polly,  why  is  it  thine  eyes 

Through  their  briglitness  have  something  of  sorrow  ? 
I  cannot  suppose  that  the  glow  of  such  skies 
Should  ever  mean  gloom  for  the  morrow ; 

"Or  must  I  believe  that  your  heart  is  afar, 
And  you  only  make  semblance  to  hear  me. 
While  your  tlioughts  are  away  to  that  splendid  hussar. 
And  't  is  only  your  image  is  near  me  1  " 

"An  unpublished  melody,  I  fancy,"  said  Stapylton,  with 
a  malicious  twinkle  of  his  eye. 

"Not  even  corrected  as  yet,"  said  the  Poet,  with  a  glance 
at  Polly. 

What  a  triumph  it  was  for  a  mere  village  beauty  to  be 
thus  tilted  for  by  such  gallant  knights ;  but  Polly  was  prac- 
tical as  well  as  vain,  and  a  certain  unmistakable  something 
in  Lady  Cobham's  eye  told  her  that  two  of  the  most  valued 
guests  of  the  house  were  not  to  be  thus  withdrawn  from 
circulation;  and  with  this  wise  impression  on  her  mind,  she 
slipped  hastily  away,  on  the  pretext  of  something  to  say  to 
her  father.  And  although  it  was  a  mere  pretence  on  her 
part,  there  was  that  in  her  look  as  they  talked  together  that 
betokened  their  conversation  to  be  serious. 

"I  tell  you  again,"  said  he,  in  a  sharp  but  low  whisper, 
"she  will  not  suffer  it.  You  used  not  to  make  mistakes  of 
this  kind  formerly,  and  I  cannot  conceive  why  you  should 
do  so  now." 

"But,  dear  papa,"  said  she,  with  a  strange  half-smile, 
"don't  you  remember  your  own  story  of  the  gentleman  who 


COBHAM.  193 

got  tipsy  because  he  foresaw  be  would  never  be  invited 
again  ? " 

But  the  doctor  was  in  no  jesting  mood,  and  would  not 
accept  of  the  illustration.  He  spoke  now  even  more  angrily 
than  before. 

"You  have  only  to  see  how  much  they  make  of  him  to 
know  well  that  he  is  out  of  our  reach,"  said  he,  bitterly. 

"A  long  shot,  Sir  Lucius;  there  is  such  honor  in  a  long 
shot,"  said  she,  with  infinite  drollery;  and  then  with  a  sud- 
den gravity,  added,  "I  have  never  forgotten  the  man  you 
cured,  just  because  your  hand  shook  and  you  gave  him  a 
double  dose  of  laudanum." 

This  was  too  much  for  his  patience,  and  he  turned  away 
in  disgust  at  her  frivolity.  In  doing  so,  however,  he  came 
in  front  of  Lady  Cobham,  who  had  come  up  to  request  Miss 
Dill  to  play  a  certain  Spanish  dance  for  two  young  ladies 
of  the  company. 

"Of  course,  your  Ladyship,  — too  much  honor  for  her,  — 
she  will  be  charmed;  my  little  girl  is  overjoyed  when  she 
can  contribute  even  thus  humbly  to  the  pleasure  of  your 
delightful  house." 

Never  did  a  misdemeanist  take  his  "six  weeks"  with  a 
more  complete  consciousness  of  penalty  than  did  Polly  sit 
down  to  that  piano.  She  well  understood  it  as  a  sentence, 
and,  let  me  own,  submitted  well  and  gracefully  to  her  fate. 
Nor  was  it,  after  all,  such  a  slight  trial,  for  the  fandango 
was  her  own  speciality;  she  had  herself  brought  the  dance 
and  the  music  to  Cobham.  They  who  were  about  to  dance 
it  were  her  own  pupils,  and  not  very  proficient  ones,  either. 
And  with  all  this  she  did  her  part  well  and  loyally.  Never 
had  she  played  with  more  spirit;  never  marked  the  time 
with  a  firmer  precision ;  never  threw  more  tenderness  into 
the  graceful  parts,  nor  more  of  triumphant  daring  into  the 
proud  ones.  Amid  the  shower  of  "Bravos!"  that  closed 
the  performance,  — for  none  thought  of  the  dancers, — the 
little  Poet  drew  nigh  and  whispered,  "How  naughty!  " 

"Why  so?"  asked  she,  innocently. 

"What  a  blaze  of  light  to  throw  over  a  sorry  picture!  " 
said  he,  dangling  his  eyeglass,  and  playing  that  part  of 
middle-aged  Cupid  he  was  so  fond  of  assuming. 

VOL.   I.  — 13 


194  BARRINGTON. 

"Do  you  kuow,  sir,"  said  Lady  Cobham,  coming  hastily 
towards  bim,  "that  I  will  not  permit  you  to  turn  the  heads 
of  my  youug  ladies?  Dr.  Dill  is  already  so  afraid  of  your 
fascinations  that  he  has  ordered  his  carriage,  —  is  it  not 
so?"  she  went  on  appealing  to  the  doctor,  with  increased 
rapidity.  "But  you  will  certainly  keep  your  promise  to  us. 
We  shall  expect  you  on  Thursday  at  dinner." 

Overwhelmed  with  confusion,  Dill  answered  —  he  knew 
not  what  —  about  pleasure,  punctuality,  and  so  forth;  and 
then  turned  away  to  ring  for  that  carriage  he  hud  not 
ordered  before. 

"And  so  you  tell  me  Barrington  is  better?"  said  the 
Admiral,  taking  him  by  the  arm  and  leading  him  away. 
"The  danger  is  over,  then?" 

"I  believe  so;  his  mind  is  calm,  and  he  is  only  suffering 
now  from  debility.  What  with  the  Assizes,  and  a  week's 
dissipation  at  Kilkenny,  and  this  shock,  —  for  it  was  a 
shock,  —  the  whole  thing  was  far  more  of  a  mental  than  a 
bodily  ailment." 

'"You  gave  him  my  message?  You  said  how  anxious  I 
felt  to  know  if  I  could  be  of  any  use  to  him  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  he  charged  Mr.  Withering  to  come  and  thank 
you,  for  he  is  passing  by  Cobham  to-morrow  on  his  way  to 
Kilkenny." 

"Indeed!  Georgiaua,  don't  forget  that.  Withering  will 
call  here  to-morrow;  try  and  keep  him  to  dine,  at  least,  if 
we  cannot  secure  him  for  longer.  He  's  one  of  those  fellows 
I  am  always  delighted  to  meet.  Where  are  you  going,  Dill  ? 
Not  taking  3'our  daughter  away  at  this  hour,  are  you?  " 

The  doctor  sighed,  and  muttered  something  about  dissi- 
pations that  were  only  too  fascinating,  too  engrossing.  He 
did  not  exactly  like  to  say  that  his  passports  had  been  sent 
him,  and  the  authorities  duly  instructed  to  give  him  "every 
aid  and  assistance  possible."  For  a  moment,  indeed,  Polly 
looked  as  though  she  would  make  some  explanation  of  the 
matter;  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  the  slight  flush 
on  her  cheek  gave  way  quickly,  and  she  looked  somewhat 
paler  than  her  wont.  Meanwhile,  the  little  Poet  had  fetched 
her  shawl,  and  led  her  away,  humming,  "Buona  notte,  — 
buona   sera!"    as   he   went,    in   that   half-caressing,    half- 


COBHAil.  195 

quizzing  way  he  could  assume  so  jauntily.  Stapyltou 
walked  behind  with  the  doctor,  aud  whispered  as  he  went, 
*'If  not  inconvenient,  might  I  ask  the  favor  of  a  few  min- 
utes with  you  to-morrow  ?  " 

Dill  assured  him  he  was  devotedly  his  servant;  and  hav- 
ing fixed  the  interview  for  two  o'clock,  away  they  drove. 
The  night  was  calm  and  starlight,  and  they  had  long  passed 
beyond  the  grounds  of  Cobham,  and  were  full  two  miles  on 
their  road  before  a  word  was  uttered  by  either. 

"What  was  it  her  Ladyship  said  about  Thursday  next,  at 
dinner?"  asked  the  doctor,  half  pettishly. 

"Nothing  to  me,  papa." 

"If  I  remember,  it  was  that  we  had  accepted  the  invita- 
tion already,  and  begging  me  not  to  forget  it." 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  she,  dryl3\ 

"You  are  usually  more  mindful  about  these  matters,"  said 
he,  tartly,  "and  not  so  likely  to  forget  promised  festivities." 

"They  certainly  were  not  promised  to  me,"  said  she, 
"nor,  if  they  had  been,  should  I  accept  of  them." 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  said  he,  angrily. 

"Simply,  papa,  that  it  is  a  house  I  will  not  re-enter,  that 's 
all." 

"Why,  your  head  is  turned,  your  brains  are  destroyed 
by  flattery,  girl.  You  seem  totall}'  to  forget  that  we  go  to 
these  places  merely  by  courtesy,  — we  are  received  only  on 
sufferance;  we  are  not  their  equals." 

"The  more  reason  to  treat  us  with  deference,  and  not 
render  our  position  more  painful  than  it  need  be." 

"Folly  and  nonsense!  Deference,  indeed!  How  much 
deference  is  due  from  eight  thousand  a  year  to  a  dispensary 
doctor,  or  his  daughter?  I  '11  have  none  of  these  absurd 
notions.  If  they  made  any  mistake  towards  you,  it  was  by 
over-attention,  — too  much  notice." 

"  That  is  very  possible,  papa ;  and  it  was  not  always  very 
flattering  for  that  reason." 

"Why,  what  is  your  head  full  of?  Do  you  fancy  you  are 
one  of  Lord  Carricklough's  daughters,  eh?  " 

"No,  papa;  for  they  are  shockingly  freckled,  and  very 
plain." 

"  Do  you  knoAv  3'our  real  station?  "  cried  he,  more  angrily, 


196  BARRINGTON. 

"and  that  if,  by  the  courtesy  of  society,  my  position  secures 
acceptance  anywhere,  it  entails  nothing  —  positively  nothing 
—  to  those  belonging  to  me?" 

"Such  being  the  case,  is  it  not  wise  of  us  not  to  want 
anything,  —  not  to  look  for  it,  —  not  to  pine  after  it?  You 
shall  see,  papa,  whether  I  fret  over  my  exclusion  from 
Cobham." 

The  doctor  was  not  in  a  mood  to  approve  of  such  philoso- 
phy, and  he  drove  on,  only  showing  —  by  an  extra  cut  of 
his  whip  —  the  tone  and  temper  that  beset  him. 

"You  are  to  have  a  visit  from  Captain  Stapylton  to- 
morrow, papa?"  said  she,  in  the  manner  of  a  half  question. 

"Who  told  you  so?"  said  he,  with  a  touch  of  eagerness 
in  his  voice;  for  suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  if  Polly  knew 
of  this  appointment,  she  herself  might  be  interested  in  its 
object. 

"He  asked  me  what  was  the  most  likely  time  to  find  you 
at  home,  and  also  if  he  might  veutiue  to  hope  he  should  be 
presented  to  mamma." 

That  was,  as  the  doctor  thought,  a  very  significant  speech; 
it  might  mean  a  great  deal,  —  a  very  great  deal,  indeed ;  and 
so  he  turned  it  over  and  over  in  his  mind  for  some  time 
before  he  spoke  again.     At  last  he  said,  — 

"I  haven't  a  notion  what  he's  coming  about,  Polly, — 
have  you  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  except,  perhaps,  it  be  to  consult  you.  He  told 
me  he  had  sprained  his  arm,  or  his  shoulder,  the  other  day, 
when  his  horse  swerved." 

"Oh  no,  it  can't  be  that,  Polly;  it  can't  be  that." 

"Why  not  the  pleasure  of  a  morning  call,  then?  He  is  an 
idle  man,  and  finds  time  heavy  on  his  hands." 

A  short  "humph"  showed  that  this  explanation  was  not 
more  successful  than  the  former,  and  the  doctor,  rather 
irritated  with  this  game  of  fence,  for  so  he  deemed  it,  said 
bluntly,  — 

"Has  he  been  showing  you  any  marked  attentions  of  late? 
Have  you  noticed  anything  peculiar  in  his  manner  towards 
you?" 

"Nothing  whatever,  sir,"  said  she,  with  a  frank  boldness. 
"He  has  chatted    and   flirted  with   me,  just  as  every   one 


COBHAM.  197 

else  presumes  he  has  a  right  to  do  with  a  girl  in  a  station 
below  their  own ;  but  he  has  never  been  more  impertinent  in 
this  way  than  any  other  young  man  of  fashion." 

"But  there  have  been  "  —  he  was  sorely  puzzled  for  the 
word  he  wanted,  and  it  was  onl}'  as  a  resource,  not  out  of 
choice,  he  said  —  "attentions?" 

''  Of  course,  papa,  what  many  would  call  in  the  cognate 
phrase,  marked  attentions ;  but  girls  who  go  into  the  world 
as  I  do  no  more  mistake  what  these  mean  than  would  you 
yourself,  papa,  if  passingly  asked  what  was  good  for  a  sore- 
throat  fancy  that  the  inquirer  intended  to  fee  you." 

"  I  see,  Polly,  I  see,"  muttered  he,  as  the  illustration 
came  home  to  him.  Still,  after  ruminating  for  some  time,  a 
change  seemed   to  come  over  his  thoughts,  for  he  said,  — - 

"But  you  might  be  wrong  this  time,  Polly:  it  is  by  no 
means  impossible  that  you  might  be  wrong." 

"  My  dear  papa,"  said  she,  gravely,"  when  a  man  of  his 
rank  is  disposed  to  think  seriousl}'  of  a  girl  in  mine,  he  does 
not  begin  by  flattery ;  he  rather  takes  the  line  of  correction 
and  warning,  telling  her  fifty  little  platitudes  about  trifles  in 
manner,  and  so  forth,  by  her  docile  acceptance  of  which  he 
conceives  a  high  notion  of  himself,  and  a  half  liking  for  her. 
But  I  have  no  need  to  go  into  these  things  ;  enough  if  I 
assure  j^ou  Captain  Stapylton's  visit  has  no  concern  for  me ; 
he  either  comes  out  of  pure  idleness,  or  he  wants  to  make 
use  of  you." 

The  last  words  opened  a  new  channel  to  Dill's  thoughts, 
and  he  drove  on  in  silent  meditation  over  them. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   HOUR   OF   LUNCHEON. 

If  there  be  a  special  agreeability  about  all  the  meal-times  of 
a  pleasant  country-house,  there  is  not  one  of  them  which,  in 
the  charm  of  an  easy,  unconstrained  gayety,  can  rival  the 
hour  of  luncheon.  At  breakfast,  one  is  too  fresh  ;  at  dinner, 
too  formal ;  but  luncheon,  like  an  opening  manhood,  is  full 
of  its  own  bright  projects.  The  plans  of  the  day  have 
already  reached  a  certain  maturity,  and  fixtures  have  been 
made  for  riding-parties,  or  phaeton  drives,  or  flirtations  in 
the  garden.  The  very  strangers  who  looked  coldly  at  each 
other  over  their  morning  papers  have  shaken  into  a  semi- 
intimacy,  and  little  traits  of  character  and  temperament, 
which  would  have  been  studiously  shrouded  in  the  more 
solemn  festivals  of  the  day,  are  now  displayed  with  a  frank 
and  fearless  confidence.  The  half-toilette  and  the  tweed 
coat,  mutton  broth  and  "  Balmorals,"  seem  infinitely  more 
congenial  to  acquaintanceship  than  the  full-blown  splendor 
of  evening  dress  and  the  grander  discipline  of  dinner. 

Irish  social  life  permits  of  a  practice  of  which  I  do  not, 
while  recording,  constitute  mj^self  the  advocate  or  the  apolo- 
gist, —  a  sort  of  good-tempered  banter  called  quizzing,  —  a 
habit  I  scarcely  believe  practicable  in  other  lands ;  that  is,  I 
know  of  no  country  where  it  could  be  carried  on  as  harm- 
lessly and  as  gracefully,  where  as  much  wit  could  be  ex- 
pended innocuously,  as  little  good  feeling  jeopardized  in 
the  display.  The  happiest  hour  of  the  day  for  such  passages 
as  these  was  that  of  luncheon,  and  it  was  in  the  very  clash 
and  clatter  of  the  combat  that  a  servant  announced  the 
Attorne^'-General ! 

What  a  damper  did  the  name  prove !  Short  of  a  bishop 
himself,  no  announcement  could    have  spread   more   terror 


THE  HOUR  OF  LUNCHEON.  199 

over  the  younger  members  of  the  company,  embodying  as  it 
seemed  to  do  all  that  could  be  inquisitorial,  intolerant,  and 
overbearing.  Great,  however,  was  the  astonishment  to  see, 
instead  of  the  stern  incarnation  of  Crown  prosecutions  and 
arbitrary  commitments,  a  tall,  thin,  slightly  stooped  man, 
dressed  in  a  gray  shooting-jacket,  and  with  a  hat  plentifully 
garnished  with  fishing-flies.  He  came  lightly  into  the  room, 
and  kissed  the  hand  of  liis  hostess  with  a  mixture  of 
cordiality  and  old-fashioned  gallantry  that  became  him 
well. 

"  My  old  luck,  Cobham  !  "  said  he,  as  he  seated  himself 
at  table.  "  I  have  fished  the  stream  all  the  way  from  the 
Red  House  to  this,  and  never  so  much  as  a  rise  to  reward 
me. 

"They  knew  you,  —  they  knew  you,  "Withering,"  chirped 
out  the  Poet,  "  and  they  took  good  care  not  to  put  in  an 
appearance,  with  the  certainty  of  a  '  detainer.'  " 

"Ah!  you  here!  That  decanter  of  sherry  screened  you 
completely  from  my  view,"  said  "SMthering,  whose  sarcasm 
on  his  size  touched  the  vei'y  sorest  of  the  other's  suscepti- 
bilities. "  And  talking  of  recognizances,  how  comes  it  you 
are  here,  and  a  large  party  at  Lord  Dunraney's  all  assembled 
to  meet  you  ?  " 

The  Poet,  as  not  infrequent  with  him,  had  forgotten 
everything  of  tliis  prior  engagement,  and  was  now  over- 
whelmed with  his  forget  fulness.  The  ladies,  however,  pressed 
eagerly  around  him  with  consolation  so  like  caresses,  that 
he  was  speedily  himself  again. 

"How  natural  a  mistake,  after  all!"  said  the  lawyer. 
"The  old  song  saySj  — 

'  Tell  me  where  beauty  and  wit  and  wine 
Are  met,  and  I  '11  say  where  I  'm  asked  to  dine.' 

Ah !  Tommy,  yours  is  the  profession,  after  all ;  always  sure 
of  your  retainer,  and  never  but  one  brief  to  sustain  —  '  T. 
M.  versus  the  Heart  of  Woman.'  " 

'■  One  is  occasionally  nonsuited,  however,"  said  the  other, 
half  pettishly.  "By  the  way,  how  was  it  you  got  that 
verdict  for  old  Barrington  t'other  day?  Was  it  true  that 
Plowden  got  hold  of  i/ou)-  bag' by  mistake?" 


200  BARRINGTON. 

"  Not  only  that,  but  he  made  a  point  for  us  none  of  us 
had  discovered." 

"  How  historical  the  blunder :  — 

'  The  case  is  classical,  as  I  and  you  know ; 
He  came  from  Venus,  but  made  love  to  Juno.'" 

"  If  Peter  Barrington  gained  his  cause  by  it  I  'ra  heartily 
rejoiced,  and  I  wish  him  health  and  years  to  enjoy  it."  The 
Admiral  said  this  with  a  cordial  good  will  as  he  drank  off 
his  glass. 

"He's  all  right  again,"  said  Withering.  "I  left  him 
working  away  with  a  hoe  and  a  rake  this  morning,  looking 
as  hale  and  hearty  as  he  did  a  dozen  years  ago." 

'•  A  man  must  have  really  high  deserts  in  whose  good 
fortune  so  many  are  well-wishers,"  said  Stapylton  ;  and  by 
the  courteous  tone  of  the  remark  AVitheriug's  attention 
was  attracted,  and  he  speedily  begged  the  Admiral  to  present 
him  to  his  guest.  They  continued  to  converse  together  as 
they  arose  from  table,  and  with  such  common  pleasure  that 
when  Withering  expressed  a  hope  the  acquaintance  might 
not  end  there,  Stapylton  replied  by  a  request  that  he  would 
allow  him  to  be  his  fellow-traveller  to  Kilkenny,  whither  he 
was  about  to  go  on  a  regimental  affair.  The  arrangement 
was  quickly  made,  to  the  satisfaction  of  each ;  and  as  they 
drove  away,  while  many  bewailed  the  departure  of  such 
pleasant  members  of  the  party,  tlie  little  Poet  simperingly 
said,  — 

"  Shall  I  owTi  that  my  heart  is  relieved  of  a  care  ?  — 
Though  you  '11  think  the  confession  is  petty  — 
I  cannot  but  feel,  as  I  look  on  the  pair, 
It  is  '  Peebles  '  gone  off  with  '  Dalgetty.' " 

As  for  the  fellow-travellers,  they  jogged  along  very 
pleasantly  on  their  wa}-,  as  two  consummate  men  of  the 
world  are  sure  to  do  when  they  meet.  For  what  Free- 
masonry equals  that  of  two  shrewd  students  of  life?  How 
flippantly  do  they  discuss  each  theme !  how  easily  read  each 
character,  and  unravel  each  motive  that  presents  itself ! 
What  the  lawyer  gained  by  the  technical  subtlety  of  his 
profession,  the  soldier  made  up  for  by  his  wider  experience 
of  mankind.     There  were,  besides,  a  variety  of  experiences 


THE   HOUR  OF  LUNCHEON.  201 

to  exchange.  Toga  could  tell  of  much  that  interested  the 
"  man  of  war,"  and  he,  in  turn,  made  himself  extremely 
agreeable  by  his  Eastern  information,  not  to  say,  that  he 
was  able  to  give  a  correct  version  of  many  Hindostanee 
phrases  and  words  which  the  old  lawyer  eagerly  desired  to 
acquire. 

''All  you  have  been  telling  me  has  a  strong  interest  for 
me,  Captain  Stapylton,"  said  he,  as  they  drove  into  Kil- 
kenny. "I  have  a  case  which  has  engaged  my  attention  for 
years,  and  is  likely  to  occupy  what  remains  to  me  of  life, 

—  a  suit  of  which  India  is  the  scene,  and  Orientals  figure  as 
some  of  the  chief  actors,  —  so  that  I  can  scarcely  say  how 
fortunate  I  feel  this  chance  meeting  with  you." 

"I  shall  deem  myself  greatly  honored  if  the  acquaintance 
does  not  end  here." 

"It  shall  not,  if  it  depend  upon  me,"  said  Withering, 
cordially.  "You  said  something  of  a  visit  you  were  about 
to  make  to  Dublin.     Will  you  do  me  a  great  —  a  very  great 

—  favor,  and  make  my  house  your  home  while  you  stay  ? 
This  is  my  address:  '18  Merrion  Square.'  It  is  a  bach- 
elor's hall;  and  you  can  come  and  go  without  ceremony." 

"The  plan  is  too  tempting  to  hesitate  about.  I  accept 
your  invitation  with  all  the  frankness  you  have  given  it. 
Meanwhile  you  will  be  my  guest  here." 

"That  is  impossible.     I  must  start  for  Cork  this  evening." 
And    now  they  parted,  —  not   like   men   who   had   been 
strangers  a  few  hours    back,   but   like  old   acquaintances, 
only  needing  the  occasion  to  feel  as  old  friends. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

AN    INTERIOR   AT   THE   DOCTOR'S. 

When  Captain  Stapylton  made  his  appointment  to  wait  on 
Dr.  Dill,  he  was  not  aware  that  the  Attorney-General  was 
expected  at  Cobham.  No  sooner,  however,  had  he  learned 
that  fact  than  he  changed  his  purpose,  and  intimated  his 
intention  of  running  up  for  a  day  to  Kilkenny,  to  hear  what 
was  going  on  in  the  regiment.  No  regret  for  any  disap- 
pointment he  might  be  giving  to  the  village  doctor,  no  self- 
reproach  for  the  breach  of  an  engagement  —  all  of  his  own 
making  —  crossed  his  mind.  It  is,  indeed,  a  theme  for  a 
moralist  to  explore,  the  ease  with  which  a  certain  superiority 
in  station  can  divest  its  possessor  of  all  care  for  the  sensi- 
bilities of  those  below  him;  and  yet  in  the  little  household 
of  the  doctor  that  promised  visit  was  the  source  of  no  small 
discomfort  and  trouble.  The  doctor's  study  —  the  sanctum 
in  which  the  interview  should  be  held  —  had  to  be  dusted 
and  smartened  up.  Old  boots,  and  overcoats,  and  smashed 
driving-whips,  and  odd  stirrup-leathers,  and  stable-lanterns, 
and  garden  implements  had  all  to  be  banished.  The  great 
table  in  front  of  the  doctor's  chair  had  also  to  be  profes- 
sionally littered  with  notes  and  cards  and  periodicals,  not 
forgetting  an  ingenious  admixture  of  strange  instruments 
of  torture,  quaint  screws,  and  inscrutable-looking  scissors, 
destined,  doubtless,  to  make  man}'  a  faint  heart  the  fainter 
in  their  dread  presence.  All  these  details  had  to  be  carried 
out  in  various  ways  through  the  rest  of  the  establishment, 
—  in  the  drawing-room,  wherein  the  great  man  was  to  be 
ushered ;  in  the  dining-room,  where  he  was  to  lunch.  Upon 
Polly  did  the  greater  part  of  these  cares  devolve;  not  alone 
attending  to  the  due  disposal  of  chairs  and  sofas  and 
tables,  but  to  the  preparation  of  certain  culinary  delicacies, 


AN  INTERIOK  AT  THE  DOCTOR'S.  203 

which  were  to  make  the  Captain  forget  the  dainty  luxuries 
of  Cobham.  And,  in  truth,  there  is  a  marvellous  esprit 
du  corps  in  the  way  a  woman  will  fag  and  slave  herself  to 
make  the  humble  household  she  belongs  to  look  its  best, 
even  to  the  very  guest  she  has  least  at  heart ;  for  Polly  did 
not  like  Stapylton.  Flattered  at  first  by  his  notice,  she  was 
offended  afterwards  at  the  sort  of  conscious  condescension 
of  his  manner, —  a  something  which  seemed  to  say,  I  can  be 
charming,  positively  fascinating,  but  don't  imagine  for  a 
moment  that  there  is  anything  especial  in  it.  I  captivate 
—  just  as  I  fish,  hunt,  sketch,  or  shoot  —  to  amuse  myself. 
And  with  all  this,  how  was  it  he  was  really  not  a  coxcomb  ? 
Was  it  the  grave  dignity  of  his  address,  or  the  quiet  state- 
liness  of  his  person,  or  was  it  a  certain  uniformity,  a 
keeping,  that  pervaded  all  he  said  or  did?  I  am  not  quite 
sure  whether  all  three  did  not  contribute  to  this  end,  and 
make  him  what  the  world  confessed,  —  a  most  well-bred 
gentleman. 

Polly  was,  in  her  way,  a  shrewd  observer,  and  she  felt  that 
Stapylton' s  manner  towards  her  was  that  species  of  urbane 
condescension  with  which  a  great  master  of  a  game  deigns 
to  play  with  a  very  humble  proficient.  He  moved  about  the 
board  with  an  assumption  that  said,  I  can  checkmate  you 
when  I  will !  Now  this  is  hard  enough  to  bear  when  the 
pieces  at  stake  are  stained  ivory,  but  it  is  less  endurable: 
still  when  they  are  our  emotions  and  our  wishes.  And  yet 
with  all  this  before  her,  Polly  ordered  and  arranged  and 
superintended  and  directed  with  an  energy  that  never  tired, 
and  an  activity  that  never  relaxed. 

As  for  Mrs.  Dill,  no  similar  incident  in  the  life  of  Cla- 
rissa had  prepared  her  for  the  bustle  and  preparation  she 
saw  on  every  side,  and  she  was  fairly  perplexed  between  the 
thought  of  a  seizure  for  rent  and  a  fire,  —  casualties  which, 
grave  as  they  were,  she  felt  she  could  meet  with  Mr.  Rich- 
ardson beside  her.  The  doctor  himself  was  unusually  fidgety 
and  anxious.  Perhaps  he  ascribed  considerable  importance 
to  this  visit;  perhaps  he  thought  Polly  had  not  been  candid 
with  him,  and  that,  in  reality,  she  knew  more  of  its  object 
than  she  had  avowed;  and  so  he  walked  hurriedly  from 
room  to  room,  and  out  into  the  garden,  and  across  the  road 


204  BARKINGTON. 

to  the  river's  siile,  and  once  as  far  as  the  bridge,  consulting 
his  watch,  and  calculating  that  as  it  now  only  wanted  eight 
minutes  of  two  o'clock,  the  arrival  could  scarcely  be  long 
delayed. 

It  was  on  his  return  he  entered  the  drawing-room  and 
found  Polly,  now  plainly  but  becomingly  dressed,  seated  at 
her  work,  with  a  seeming  quietude  and  repose  about  her, 
strangely  at  variance  witli  her  late  display  of  activity. 
"I've  had  a  look  down  the  Graigue  Road,"  said  he,  "but 
can  see  nothing.     You  are  certain  he  said  two  o'clock?" 

"Quite  certain,  sir." 

"To  be  sure  he  might  come  by  the  river;  there 's  water 
enough  now  for  the  Cobham  barge." 

She  made  no  answer,  though  she  half  suspected  some 
reply  was  expected. 

"And  of  course,"  continued  the  doctor,  "they'd  have 
offered  him  the  use  of  it.  They  seem  to  make  a  great  deal 
of  him  up  there." 

"A  great  deal,  indeed,  sir,"  said  she;  but  in  a  voice  that 
was  a  mere  echo  of  his  own. 

"And  I  suspect  they  know  why.  I  'm  sure  they  know 
why.  People  in  their  condition  make  no  mistakes  about 
each  other;  and  if  he  receives  much  attention,  it  is  because 
it's  his  due." 

No  answer  followed  this  speech,  and  he  walked  feverishly 
up  and  down  the  room,  holding  his  watch  in  his  closed 
hand.  "  I  have  a  notion  you  must  have  mistaken  him.  It 
was  not  two  he  said." 

"I'm  positive  it  was  two,  sir.  But  it  can  scarcely  be 
much  past  that  hour  now." 

"It  is  seventeen  minutes  past  two,"  said  he,  solemnly. 
And  then,  as  if  some  fresh  thought  had  just  occurred  to  him, 
asked,  "Where  's  Tom?     I  never  saw  him  this  morning." 

"He's  gone  out  to  take  a  walk,  sir.  The  poor  fellow  is 
dead  beat  by  work,  and  had  such  a  headache  that  I  told  him 
to  go  as  far  as  the  Red  House  or  Snow's  Mill." 

"And  I  '11  wager  he  did  not  want  to  be  told  twice.  Any- 
thing for  idleness  with  him!" 

"Well,  papa,  he  is  really  doing  his  very  best  now.  He 
is  not  naturall}'  quick,  and  he  has  a  bad  memory,  so  that 


I 


AN  INTERIOR  AT   THE   DOCTOR'S.  205 

labor  is  no  common  toil ;  but  his  heart  is  in  it,  and  I  never 
saw  him  really  anxious  for  success  before." 

"To  go  out  to  India,  I  suppose,"  said  Dill,  sneeringly, 
"that  notable  project  of  the  other  good-for-nothing;  for, 
except  in  the  matter  of  fortune,  there  's  not  much  to  choose 
between  them.     There  's  the  half-hour  striking  now!  " 

"The  project  has  done  this  for  him,  at  least,"  said  she, 
firmly,  — "it  has  given  him  hope!  " 

"How  I  like  to  hear  about  hope! "  said  he,  with  a  pecu- 
liarly sarcastic  bitterness.  "I  never  knew  a  fellow  worth 
sixpence  that  had  that  cant  of  '  hope  '  in  his  mouth !  How 
much  hope  had  I  when  I  began  the  world !  How  much  have 
I  now  ? " 

"Don't  you  hope  Captain  Stapylton  may  not  have  for- 
gotten his  appointment,  papa?"  said  she,  with  a  quick  droll- 
ery, which  sparkled  in  her  eye,  but  brought  no  smile  to  her 
lips. 

"AVell,  here  he  is  at  last,"  said  Dill,  as  he  heard  the  sharp 
click  made  by  the  wicket  of  the  little  garden ;  and  he  started 
up,  and  rushed  to  the  window.  "May  I  never!"  cried  he, 
in  horror,  "if  it  is  n't  M'Cormick!  Say  we 're  out, — that 
I'm  at  Graigue,  — that  I  won't  be  home  till  evening!  " 

But  while  he  was  multiplying  these  excuses,  the  old  Major 
had  caught  sight  of  him,  and  was  waving  his  hand  in  salu- 
tation from  below.  "It 's  too  late,  —  it 's  too  late!  "  sighed 
Dill,  bitterly;  "he  sees  me  now,  — there's  no  help  for  it!" 

What  benevolent  and  benedictory  expressions  were  mut- 
tered below  his  breath,  it  is  not  for  this  history  to  record; 
but  so  vexed  and  irritated  was  he,  that  the  Major  had  already 
entered  the  room  ere  he  could  compose  his  features  into  even 
a  faint  show  of  welcome. 

"I  was  down  at  the  Dispensary,"  croaked  out  M'Cormick, 
"  and  they  told  me  you  were  not  expected  there  to-day,  and 
so  I  said,  maybe  he  's  ill,  or  maybe,"  —  and  here  he  looked 
shrewdly  around  him,  —  "maybe  there  's  something  going 
on  up  at  the  house." 

"What  should  there  be  going  on,  as  you  call  it?"  re- 
sponded Dill,  angrily,  for  he  was  now  at  home,  in  presence 
of  the  family,  and  could  not  compound  for  that  tone  of 
sers'ile  acquiescence  he  employed  on  foreign  service. 


206  BARRINGTON. 

"And,  faix,  I  believe  I  was  right;  Miss  Polly  is  u't  so 
smart  this  morning  for  nothing,  no  more  than  the  saving 
cover  is  off  the  sofa,  and  the  piece  of  gauze  taken  down 
from  before  the  looking-glass,  and  the  '  Times  '  newspaper 
away  from  the  rug !  " 

"Are  there  any  other  domestic  changes  you  'd  like  to  re- 
mark upon,  Major  M'Cormick?"  said  Dill,  pale  with  rage. 

"Indeed,  yes,"  rejoined  the  other;  "there's  yourself,  in 
the  elegant  black  coat  that  I  never  saw  since  Lord  Kil- 
raney's  funeral,  and  looking  pretty  much  as  lively  and 
pleasant  as  you  did  at  the  ceremony." 

"A  gentleman  has  made  an  appointment  with  papa," 
broke  in  Polly,  "and  may  be  here  at  any  moment." 

"I  know  who  it  is,"  said  M'Cormick,  with  a  finger  on 
the  side  of  his  nose  to  imply  intense  cunning.  "  I  know  all 
about  it." 

"What  do  you  know?  —  what  do  you  mean  by  all  about 
it?"  said  Dill,  with  an  eagerness  he  could  not  repress. 

"Just  as  much  as  yourselves,  —  there  now !  Just  as  much 
as  yourselves !  "  said  he,  sententiously. 

"But  apparently,  Major,  you  know  far  more,"  said  Polly. 

"Maybe  I  do,  ma^be  I  don't;  but  I  '11  tell  you  one  thing, 
Dill,  for  your  edification,  and  mind  me  if  I'm  not  right: 
you  're  all  mistaken  about  him,  every  one  of  ye! " 

"  "Whom  are  you  talking  of  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  sternly. 

"Just  the  very  man  you  mean  yourself,  and  no  other! 
Oh,  you  need  n't  fuss  and  fume,  I  don't  want  to  pry  into 
your  family  secrets.  Not  that  they  '11  be  such  secrets  to- 
morrow or  next  day,  —  the  whole  town  will  be  talking  of 
them,  —  but  as  an  old  friend  that  could,  maybe,  give  a  word 
of  advice  —  " 

"Advice  about  what?  Will  you  just  tell  me  about 
what?"  cried  Dill,  now  bursting  with  anger. 

"I  've  done  now.  Not  another  word  passes  my  lips  about 
it  from  this  minute.  Follow  your  own  road,  and  see  where 
it  will  lead  ye?" 

"Cannot  you  understand,  Major  M'Cormick,  that  we  are 
totally  unable  to  guess  what  you  allude  to?  Neither  papa 
nor  I  have  the  very  faintest  clew  to  your  meaning,  and  if 
you  really  desire  to  serve  us,  you  will  speak  out  plainly." 


AN   INTERIOR   AT   THE   DOCTOR'S.  207 

"  Not  another  sj'llable,  if  I  sat  here  for  two  years !  " 

The  possibility  of  such  an  infliction  seemed  so  terrible  to 
poor  Polly  that  she  actually  shuddered  as  she  heard  it. 

"  Is  n't  that  your  mother  I  see  sitting  up  there,  with  all  the 
fine  ribbons  in  her  cap?"  w^hispered  M'Cormick/ as  he 
pointed  to  a  small  room  which  opened  off  an  angle  of  the 
larger  one.  "That 's  '  the  boodoo, '  is  n't  it?  "  said  he,  with 
a  grin.  This,  I  must  inform  m}^  reader,  was  the  M'Cormick 
for  "boudoir."  "Well,  I'll  go  and  pay  my  respects  to 
her." 

So  little  interest  did  Mrs.  Dill  take  in  the  stir  and  move- 
ment around  her  that  the  Major  utterly  failed  in  his  endeav- 
ors to  torture  her  by  all  his  covert  allusions  and  ingeniously 
drawn  inferences.  No  matter  what  hints  he  dropped  or 
doubts  he  suggested,  she  knew  "Clarissa"  would  come  well 
out  of  her  trials;  and  beyond  a  little  unmeaning  simper,  and 
a  muttered  "To  be  sure,"  "No  doubt  of  it,"  and,  "Why 
not?"  M'Cormick  could  obtain  nothing  from  her. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  outer  room  the  doctor  continued  to 
stride  up  and  down  with  impatience,  while  Polly  sat  quietly 
working  on,  not  the  less  anxious,  perhaps,  though  her 
peaceful  air  betokened  a  mind  at  rest. 

"That  must  be  a  boat,  papa,"  said  she,  without  lifting 
her  head,  "  that  has  just  come  up  to  the  landing-place.  I 
heard  the  plash  of  the  oars,  and  now  all  is  still  again." 

"You're  right;  so  it  is!"  cried  he,  as  he  stopped  before 
the  window.  "But  how  is  this!  That 's  a  lady  I  see  yonder, 
and  a  gentleman  along  with  her.  That 's  not  Stapyltou, 
surely ! " 

"He  is  scarcely  so  tall,"  said  she,  rising  to  look  out, 
"but  not  veiy  unlike  him.  But  the  lady,  papa,  — the  lady 
is  Miss  Barrington." 

Bad  as  M'Cormick's  visit  was,  it  was  nothing  to  the  possi- 
bility of  such  an  advent  as  this,  and  Dill's  expressions  of 
anger  were  now  neither  measured  nor  muttered. 

"This  is  to  be  a  day  of  disasters.  I  see  it  well,  and  no 
help  for  it,"  exclaimed  he,  passionately.  "If  there  was  one 
human  being  I  'd  hate  to  come  here  this  morning,  it 's  that 
old  woman!  She 's  never  civil.  She 's  not  commonly  decent 
in  her  manner  towards  me  in  her  own  house,  and  what  she  '11 


208  BARKINGTON. 

be  in  mine,  is  clean  beyond  me  to  guess.  That's  herself! 
There  she  goes!  Look  at  her  remarking, — I  see,  she's 
remarking  on  the  weeds  over  the  beds,  and  the  smashed 
paling.  She  's  laughing  too!  Oh,  to  l)e  sure,  it's  fine  laugh- 
ing at  people  that 's  poor;  and  she  might  know  something  of 
that  same  herself.  I  know  who  the  man  is  now.  That's 
the  Colonel,  who  came  to  the  '  Fisherman's  Home '  on  tlie 
night  of  the  accident." 

"It  would  seem  we  are  to  hold  a  levee  to-day,"  said  Polly, 
giving  a  very  fleeting  glance  at  herself  in  the  glass.  And 
now  a  knock  came  to  the  door,  and  the  man  who  acted  gar- 
dener and  car-driver  and  valet  to  the  doctor  announced  that 
Miss  Barrington  and  Colonel  Hunter  were  below. 

"Show  them  up,"  said  Dill,  with  the  peremptory  voice  of 
one  ordering  a  very  usual  event,  and  intentionally  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  below  stairs. 

If  Polly's  last  parting  with  Miss  Barrington  gave  little 
promise  of  pleasure  to  their  next  meeting,  the  first  look 
she  caught  of  the  old  lady  on  entering  the  room  dispelled 
all  uneasiness  on  that  score.  Miss  Dinah  entered  with  a 
pleasing  smile,  and  presented  her  friend.  Colonel  Hunter, 
as  one  come  to  thank  the  doctor  for  much  kindness  to  his 
young  subaltern.  "Whom,  by  the  way,"  added  he,  "we 
thought  to  find  here.  It  is  only  since  we  landed  that  we 
learned  he  had  left  the  inn  for  Kilkenny." 

While  the  Colonel  continued  to  talk  to  the  doctor.  Miss 
Dinah  had  seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  with  Polly  at  her 
side. 

"My  visit  this  morning  is  to  you,"  said  she.  "I  have 
come  to  ask  your  forgiveness.  Don't  interrupt  me,  child; 
your  forgiveness  was  the  very  word  I  used.  I  was  very 
rude  to  you  t'  other  morning,  and  being  all  in  the  wrong,  — 
like  most  people  in  such  circumstances,  —  I  was  very  angry 
with  the  person  who  placed  me  so." 

"But,  my  dear  madam,"  said  Polly,  "3'ou  had  such  good 
reason  to  suppose  you  were  in  the  right  that  this  amende 
on  your  part  is  far  too  generous." 

"  It  is  not  at  all  generous,  —  it  is  simply  just.  I  was 
sorely  vexed  with  you  about  that  stupid  wager,  which  you 
were  very  wrong  to  have  had  any  share  in ;  vexed  with  3'our 


AN  IXTERIOE  AT  THE  DOCTOR'S.  209 

father,  vexed  with  your  brother,  —  uot  that  I  believed  his 
counsel  would  have  been  absolute  wisdom,  —  and  I  was  even 
vexed  with  my  young  friend  Conyers,  because  he  had  not  the 
bad  taste  to  be  as  angry  with  you  as  I  was.  When  I  was  a 
young  lady,"  said  she,  bridling  up,  and  looking  at  once 
haughty  and  defiant,  "no  man  would  have  dared  to  approach 
me  with  such  a  proposal  as  complicit}'  in  a  wager.  But  I 
am  told  that  my  ideas  are  antiquated,  and  the  world  has 
grown  much  wiser  since  that  day." 

"Nay,  madam,"  said  Polly,  "'but  there  is  another  dif- 
ference that  your  politeness  has  prevented  you  from  appre- 
ciating. I  mean  the  difference  in  station  between  Miss 
Barrington  and  Polly  Dill." 

It  was  a  well-directed  shot,  and  told  powerfully,  for  Miss 
Barrington 's  eyes  became  clouded,  and  she  turned  her  head 
away,  while  she  pressed  Polly's  hand  within  her  own  with  a 
cordial  warmth.  "Ah!"  said  she,  feelingly,  "I  hope  there 
are  many  points  of  resemblance  between  us.  I  have  always 
tried  to  be  a  good  sister.  I  know  well  what  you  have  been 
to  your  brother." 

A  very  jolly  burst  of  laughter  from  the  inner  room,  where 
Hunter  had  alreadj^  penetrated,  broke  in  upon  them,  and  the 
merry  tones  of  his  voice  were  heard  saying,  "Take  my  word 
for  it,  madam,  nobody  could  spare  time  nowadays  to  make 
love  in  nine  volumes.  Life  's  too  short  for  it.  Ask  my  old 
brother-officer  here  if  he  could  endure  such  a  thirty  years' 
war;  or  rather  let  me  turn  here  for  an  opinion.  What  does 
your  daughter  say  on  the  subject?" 

"Ay,  ay,"  croaked  out  M'Cormick.     "Marry  in  haste  —  " 

"Or  repent  that  you  didn't.  That's  the  true  reading  of 
the  adage." 

"The  Major  would  rather  apply  leisure  to  the  marriage, 
and  make  the  repentance  come  —  " 

"As  soon  as  possible  afterwards,"  said  Miss  Dinah, 
tartly. 

"Faix,  I  '11  do  better  still ;  I  won't  provoke  the  repentance 
at  all." 

"Oh,  Major,  is  it  thus  you  treat  me?"  said  Polly,  affect- 
ing to  wipe  her  eyes.  "Are  my  hopes  to  be  dashed  thus 
cruelly  ?  " 

VOL.    I.  —  14 


210  BARKINGTON. 

But  the  doctor,  who  knew  bow  savagely  M'Cormick  could 
resent  even  the  most  harmless  jesting,  quickly  interposed, 
with  a  question  whether  Polly  had  thought  of  ordering 
luncheon. 

It  is  but  fair  to  Dr.  Dill  to  record  the  bland  but  careless 
■way  he  ordered  some  entertainment  for  his  visitors.  He 
did  it  like  the  lord  of  a  well-appointed  household,  who, 
when  he  said  "serve,"  they  served.  It  was  in  the  easy  cou- 
lidence  of  one  whose  knowledge  told  him  that  the  train  was 
laid,  and  only  waited  for  the  match  to  explode  it. 

''May  I  have  the  honor,  dear  lady?"  said  he,  offering  his 
arm  to  Miss  Barrington. 

Now,  Miss  Dinah  had  just  observed  that  she  had  various 
small  matters  to  transact  in  the  village,  and  was  about  to 
issue  forth  for  their  performance;  but  such  is  the  force  of  a 
speciality,  that  she  could  not  tear  herself  away  without  a 
peep  into  the  dining-room,  and  a  glance,  at  least,  at  arrange- 
ments that  appeared  so  magically  conjured  up.  Nor  was 
Dill  insensible  to  the  astonishment  expressed  in  her  face 
as  her  eyes  ranged  over  the  table. 

"If  your  daughter  be  your  housekeeper.  Dr.  Dill,"  said 
she,  in  a  whisper,  "I  must  give  her  my  very  heartiest 
approbation.  These  are  matters  I  can  speak  of  with  author- 
ity, and  I  pronounce  her  worthy  of  high  commendation." 

"What  admirable  salmon  cutlets!"  cried  the  Colonel. 
"Why,  doctor,  these  tell  of  a  French  cook." 

"There  she  is  beside  you,  the  French  cook!"  said  the 
Major,  with  a  malicious  twinkle. 

"Yes,"  said  Polly,  smiling,  though  with  a  slight  flush  on 
her  face,  "if  Major  M'Cormick  will  be  indiscreet  enough  to 
tell  tales,  let  us  hope  they  will  never  be  more  damaging  in 
their  import." 

"And  do  you  say  —  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  this 
curry  is  your  handiwork?     Why,  this  is  high  art." 

"Oh,  she's  artful  enough,  if  it's  that  ye 're  wanting," 
muttered  the  Major. 

Miss  Barrington,  having  apparently  satisfied  the  curiosity 
she  felt  about  the  details  of  the  doctor's  housekeeping,  now 
took  her  leave,  not,  however,  without  Dr.  Dill  offering  his 
arm  on  one  side,  while  Polly,  with  polite  observance,  walked 
on  the  other. 


AN  INTERIOR  AT  THE   DOCTOR'S.  211 

"Look  at  that  now,"  whispered  the  Major.  "They're 
as  much  afraid  of  that  old  woman  as  if  she  were  the  Queen 
of  Sheba !  And  all  because  she  was  once  a  fine  lady  living 
at  Barrington  Hall." 

"Here's  their  health  for  it,"  said  the  Colonel,  filling  his 
glass,  —  "and  in  a  bumper  too!  By  the  way,"  added  he, 
looking  around,  "  does  not  Mrs.  Dill  lunch  with  us?" 

"Oh,  she  seldom  comes  to  her  meals!  She's  a  little 
touched  here."  And  he  laid  his  finger  on  the  centre  of  his 
forehead.  "  And,  indeed,  no  wonder  if  she  is."  The  be- 
nevolent Major  was  about  to  give  some  details  of  secret 
family  history,  when  the  doctor  and  his  daughter  returned 
to  the  room. 

The  Colonel  ate  and  talked  untiringly.  He  was  delighted 
with  everything,  and  charmed  with  himself  for  his  good  luck 
in  chancing  upon  such  agreeable  people.  He  liked  the 
scenery,  the  village,  the  beetroot  salad,  the  bridge,  the 
pickled  oysters,  the  evergreen  oaks  before  the  door.  He 
was  not  astonished  Conyers  should  linger  on  such  a  spot ; 
and  then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to  ask  when  he  had 
left  the  village,  and  how. 

The  doctor  could  give  no  information  on  the  point,  and 
while  he  was  surmising  one  thing  and  guessing  another, 
M'Cormick  whispered  in  the  Colonel's  ear,  "Maybe  it's  a 
delicate  point.  How  do  you  know  what  went  on  with  —  " 
And  a  significant  nod  towards  Polly  finished  the  remark. 

"  I  wish  I  heard  what  Major  M'Cormick  has  just  said," 
said  Polly. 

"And  it  is  exactly  what  I  cannot  repeat  to  you." 

"I  suspected  as  much.  So  that  my  only  request  will  be 
that  you  never  remember  it." 

"  Isn't  she  sharp  !  —  sharp  as  a  needle  !  "  chimed  in  the 
Major. 

Checking,  and  not  without  some  effort,  a  smart  reprimand 
on  the  last  speaker,  the  Colonel  looked  hastily  at  his  watch, 
and  arose  from  table. 

"  Past  three  o'clock,  and  to  be  in  Kilkenny  by  six." 

"  Do  you  want  a  car?  There's  one  of  Rice's  men  now  in 
the  village  ;  shall  I  get  him  for  you  ?  " 

' '  Would  you  really  do,  me  the  kindness  ? "     While  the 


212       '  BARIUNGTON. 

Major  bustled  off  on  his  errand,  the  Colonel  withdrew  the 
doctor  inside  the  recess  of  a  window.  "  I  had  a  word  I 
wished  to  say  to  you  in  private,  Dr.  Dill ;  but  it  must  really 
be  in  private,  —  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  Strictly  confidential.  Colonel  Hunter,"  said  Dill,  bowing. 

"  It  is  this  :  a  young  olHcer  of  mine,  Lieutenant  Conyers, 
has  written  to  me  a  letter  mentioning  a  plan  he  had  con- 
ceived for  the  future  advancement  of  your  son,  a  young 
gentleman  for  whom,  it  would  appear,  he  had  formed  a 
sudden  but  strong  attachment.  His  project  was,  as  I  under- 
stand it,  to  accredit  him  to  his  father  with  such  a  letter  as 
must  secure  the  Cleneral's  powerful  influence  in  his  behalf. 
Just  the  sort  of  thing  a  warm-hearted  young  fellow  would 
think  of  doing  for  a  friend  he  determined  to  serve,  but 
exactly  the  kind  of  proceeding  that  might  have  a  very  un- 
fortunate ending.  I  can  very  well  imagine,  from  my  own 
short  experience  here,  that  your  son's  claims  to  notice  and 
distinction  may  be  the  very  highest;  I  can  believe  readily 
what  very  little  extraneous  aid  he  would  require  to  secure 
his  success  ;  but  you  and  I  are  old  men  of  the  world,  and  are 
bound  to  look  at  things  cautiously,  and  to  ask,  '  Is  this 
scheme  a  very  safe  one?'  '  Will  General  Conyers  enter  as 
heartily  into  it  as  his  son?  '  '  Will  the  young  surgeon  be  as 
sure  to  captivate  the  old  soldier  as  the  young  one  ? '  In  a 
word,  would  it  be  quite  wise  to  set  a  man's  whole  venture  in 
life  on  such  a  cast,  and  is  it  the  sort  of  risk  that,-  with  your 
experience  of  the  world,  you  would  sanction?  " 

It  was  evident,  from  the  pause  the  Colonel  left  after  these 
words,  that  he  expected  Dill  to  say  something ;  but,  with 
the  sage  reserve  of  his  order,  the  doctor  stood  still,  and 
never  uttered  a  syllable.  Let  us  be  just  to  his  acuteness,  he 
never  did  take  to  the  project  from  the  first ;  he  thought  ill 
of  it,  in  every  way,  but  yet  he  did  not  relinquish  the  idea  of 
making  the  surrender  of  it  "  conditional;  "  and  so  he  slowly 
shook  his  head  with  an  air  of  doubt,  and  smoothly  rolled  his 
hands  one  over  the  other,  as  though  to  imply  a  moment  of 
hesitation  and  indecision. 

''  Yes,  yes,"  muttered  he,  talking  only  to  himself,  — 
"disappointment,  to  be  sure! — very  great  disappoint- 
ment too !  And  his  heart  so  set  upon  it,  that 's  the 
hardship." 


AN  INTERIOR  AT  THE   DOCTOR'S.  213 

"Naturally  enough, "  broke  in  Hunter,  hastily.  "Who 
would  n't  be  disappointed  under  such  circumstances?  Better 
even  that,  however,  than  utter  failure  later  on." 

The  doctor  sighed,  but  over  what  precise  calamity  was 
not  so  clear ;  and  Hunter  continued,  — 

"Now,  as  I  have  made  this  communication  to  you  in 
strictest  contidence,  and  not  in  any  concert  with  Conyers, 
I  only  ask  you  to  accept  the  view  as  a  mere  matter  of 
opinion.  I  think  you  would  be  wi'ong  to  suffer  your  son 
to  engage  in  such  a  venture.  That's  all  I  mean  by  my 
interference,  and  I  have  done." 

Dill  was,  perhaps,  scarcely  prepared  for  the  sudden  sum- 
ming up  of  the  Colonel,  and  looked  strangely  puzzled  and 
embarrassed. 

"Might  I  talk  the  matter  over  with  my  daughter  Polly? 
She  has  a  good  head  for  one  so  little  versed  in  the  world." 

"By  all  means.  It  is  exactly  what  I  would  have  pro- 
posed. Or,  better  still,  shall  I  repeat  what  I  have  just 
told  you  ?  " 

"Do  so,"  said  the  doctor,  "for  I  just  remember  Miss 
Barrington  will  call  here  in  a  few  moments  for  that  medi- 
cine I  have  ordered  for  her  brother,  and  which  is  not  yet 
made  up." 

"  Give  me  five  minutes  of  your  time  and  attention.  Miss 
Dill,"  said  Hunter,  "on  a  point  for  which  your  father  has 
referred  me  to  your  counsel." 

"To  mine?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  smiling  at  her  astonishment.  "  We 
want  your  quick  faculties  to  come  to  the  aid  of  our  slow  ones. 
And  here's  the  case."  And  in  a  few  sentences  he  put  the 
matter  before  her,  as  he  had  done  to  her  father.  While  he 
thus  talked,  they  had  strolled  out  into  the  garden,  and 
walked  slowly  side  by  side  down  one  of  the  alleys. 

"Poor  Tom!— poor  fellow!"  was  all  that  Polly  said, 
as  she  listened;  but  once  or  twice  her  handkerchief  was 
raised  to  her  eyes,  and  her  chest  heaved  heavily. 

"  I  am  heartily  sorry  for  him  —  that  is,  if  his  heart  be 
bent  on  it  —  if  he  really  should  have  built  upon  the  scheme 
already." 

"  Of  course  he  has,  sir.     You  don't  suppose  that  in  such 


214  BAERINGTON. 

lives  as  ours  these  are  common  incidents?  If  we  chance 
upon  a  treasure,  or  fancy  that  we  have,  once  in  a  whole 
existence,  it  is  great  fortune." 

"  It  was  a  brief,  a  very  brief  acquaintance,  —  a  few  hours, 
I  believe.  The  —  What  was  that?  Did  you  hear  any 
one  cough  there  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  we  are  quite  alone.  There  is  no  one  in  the 
garden  but  ourselves." 

"  So  that,  as  I  was  saying,  the  project  could  scarcely 
have  taken  a  very  deep  root,  and  —  and  —  in  fact,  better 
the  first  annoyance  than  a  mistake  that  should  give  its 
color  to  a  whole  lifetime.  I'm  certain  I  heard  a  step  in 
that  walk  yonder." 

"  No,  sir;  we  are  all  alone." 

"  I   half   wish  I  had  never  come  on   this  same   errand. 
I  have  done  an  ungracious  thing,  evidently  very  ill,  and 
with  the  usual  fate  of   those  who  say  disagreeable  things, 
I  am  involved  in  the  disgrace  I  came  to  avert." 
"  But  I  accept  your  view." 

"There!  I  knew  there  was  some  one  there!"  said 
Hunter,  springing  across  a  bed  and  coming  suddenly  to 
the  side  of  M'Cormick,  who  was  affecting  to  be  making  a 
nosegay. 

"  The  car  is  ready  at  the  door.  Colonel,"  said  he,  in 
some  confusion.  "Maybe  you'd  oblige  me  with  a  seat  as 
far  as  Ly rath  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes;  of  course.  And  how  late  it  is!"  cried  he, 
looking  at  his  watch.  "  Time  does  fly  fast  in  these  regions, 
no  doubt  of  it." 

"  You  see.  Miss  Polly,  you  have  made  the  Colonel  forget 
himself,"  said  M'Cormick,  maliciously. 

"  Don't  be  severe  on  an  error  so  often  your  own.  Major 
M'Cormick,"  said  she,  fiercely,  and  turned  away  into  the 
house. 

The  Colonel,  however,  was  speedily  at  her  side,  and  in  an 
earnest  voice  said  :  "  I  could  hate  myself  for  the  impression 
I  am  leaving  behind  me  here.  I  came  with  those  excellent 
intentions  which  so  often  make  a  man  odious,  and  I  am  go- 
ing away  with  those  regrets  which  follow  all  failures ;  but  T 
mean  to  come  back  again  one  of  these  days,  and  erase,  if 
I  can,  the  ill  impression." 


AX  INTERIOR  AT  THE  DOCTOR'S.  215 

"  One  who  has  come  out  of  his  way  to  befriend  those  who 
had  no  claim  upon  his  kindness  can  have  no  fear  for  the 
estimation  he  will  be  held  in;  for  my  part,  I  thank  you 
heartily,  even  though  I  do  not  exactly  see  the  dkect  road 
out  of  this  difficulty." 

"Let  me  write  to  you.  One  letter — only  one,"  said 
Hunter. 

But  M'Cormick  had  heard  the  request,  and  she  flushed  up 
with  anger  at  the  malicious  glee  his  face  exhibited. 

"  You  '11  have  to  say  my  good-byes  for  me  to  your  father, 
for  I  am  sorely  pressed  for  time ;  and,  even  as  it  is,  shall  be 
late  for  my  appointment  in  Kilkenny."  And  before  Polly 
could  do  more  than  exchange  his  cordial  shake  hands,  he  was 
gone. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

DARK   TIDINGS. 

If  I  am  not  wholly  without  self-reproach  when  I  bring  my 
reader  into  uncongenial  company,  and  make  him  pass  time 
with  Major  M'Cormick  he  had  far  rather  bestow  upon  a 
pleasanter  companion,  I  am  sustained  by  the  fact  —  unpala- 
table fact  though  it  be  —  that  the  highway  of  life  is  not 
always  smooth,  nor  its  banks  flowery,  and  that,  as  an  old 
Derry  woman  once  remarked  to  me,  "It  takes  a'  kind  o'  folk 
to  mak*  a  world." 

Now,  although  Colonel  Hunter  did  drive  twelve  weary 
miles  of  road  with  the  Major  for  a  fellow-traveller,  —  thanks 
to  that  unsocial  conveniency  called  an  Irish  jaunting-car,  — 
they  rode  back  to  back,  and  conversed  but  little.  One  might 
actually  believe  that  unpopular  men  grow  to  feel  a  sort  of 
liking  for  their  unpopularity,  and  become  at  length  delighted 
with  the  snubbings  they  meet  with,  as  though  an  evidence  of 
the  amount  of  that  discomfort  they  can  scatter  over  the  world 
at  large ;  just,  in  fact,  as  a  wasp  or  a  scorpion  might  have  a 
sort  of  triumphant  joy  in  the  consciousness  of  its  power  for 
mischief,  and  exult  in  the  terror  caused  by  its  vicinity. 

"Splendid  road  —  one  of  the  best  I  ever  travelled  on," 
said  the  Colonel,  after  about  ten  miles,  during  which  he 
smoked  on  without  a  word. 

' '  Why  would  n't  it  be,  when  they  can  assess  the  county 
for  it?  They're  on  the  Grand  Jury,  and  high  up,  all  about 
here,"  croaked  out  the  Major. 

"  It  is  a  fine  country,  and  abounds  in  handsome  places." 
"  And  well  mortgaged,  too,  the  most  of  them." 
"  You  'd    not  see  better  farming   than    that   in    Norfolk, 
cleaner  wheat  or  neater  drills;  in  fact,  one  might  imagine 
himself  in  England." 


DARK  TIDINGS.  217 

"  So  he  might,  for  the  matter  of  taxes.  I  don't  see  much 
difference." 

"  Why  don't  you  smoke?  Things  look  pleasanter  through 
the  blue  haze  of  a  good  Havannah,"  said  Hunter,  smiling. 

"  I  don't  want  them  to  look  pleasanter  than  they  are," 
was  the  dry  rejoinder. 

Whether  Hunter  did  or  did  not,  he  scarcely  liked  his 
counsellor,  and,  re-lightiug  a  cigar,  he  turned  his  back  once 
more  on  him. 

"I'm  one  of  those  old-fashioned  fellows,"  continued  the 
Major,  leaning  over  towards  his  companion,  "who  would 
rather  see  things  as  they  are,  not  as  they  might  be ;  and 
when  I  remarked  you  awhile  ago  so  pleased  with  the  elegant 
luncheon  and  Miss  Polly's  talents  for  housekeeping,  I  was 
laughing  to  myself  over  it  all." 

"How  do  you  mean?  W^hat  did  you  laugh  at?"  said 
Hunter,  half  fiercely. 

"  Just  at  the  way  you  were  taken  in,  that's  all." 

' '  Taken  in  ?  —  taken  in  ?  A  very  strange  expression  for 
an  hospitable  reception  and  a  most  agreeable  visit." 

' '  Well,  it 's  the  very  word  for  it,  after  all ;  for  as  to  the 
hospitable  reception,  it  was  n't  meant  for  us,  but  for  that 
tall  Captain,  —  the  dark-complexioned  fellow,  —  Staples,  I 
think  they  call  him." 

"Captain  Stapylton?" 

"  Yes,  that's  the  man.  He  ordered  Healey's  car  to  take 
him  over  here ;  and  I  knew  when  the  Dills  sent  over  to  Mrs. 
Brierley  for  a  loan  of  the  two  cut  decanters  and  the  silver 
cruet-stand,  something  was  up ;  and  so  I  strolled  down,  by 
way  of  —  to  reconnoitre  the  premises,  and  see  what  old  Dill 
was  after." 

"Well,  and  then?" 

"  Just  that  I  saw  it  all,  —  the  elegant  luncheon,  and  the 
two  bottles  of  wine,  and  the  ginger  cordials,  all  laid  out 
for  the  man  that  never  came  ;  for  it  would  seem  he  changed 
his  mind  about  it,  and  went  back  to  head-quarters." 

"  You  puzzle  me  more  and  more  at  every  word.  What 
change  of  mind  do  you  allude  to?  What  purpose  do  you 
infer  he  had  in  coming  over  here  to-day?" 

The  only  answer  M'Cormick  vouchsafed  to  this  was  by 


218  BARRINGTON. 

closing  one  eye  and  putting  bis  finger  significantly  to  the  tip 
of  bis  nose,  while  be  said,  "  Catch  a  weasel  asleep!  " 

"  I  more  than  suspect,"  said  Hunter,  sternly,  ''  that 
this  half-pay  life  works  badly  for  a  man's  habits,  and  throws 
him  upon  very  petty  and  contemptible  modes  of  getting 
through  his  time.  What  possible  business  could  it  be  of 
yours  to  inquire  why  Stapylton  came,  or  did  not  come  here 
to-day,  no  more  than  for  the  reason  of  my  visit?" 

''Maybe  I  could  guess  that,  too,  if  I  was  hard  pushed," 
said  M'Cormick,  whose  tone  showed  no  unusual  irritation 
from  the  late  rebuke.  "I  was  in  the  garden  all  the  time, 
and  heard  everything." 

"Listened  to  what  I  was  saying  to  Miss  Dill!"  cried 
Hunter,  whose  voice  of  indignation  could  not  now  be 
mistaken. 

"Every  word  of  it,"  replied  the  unabashed  Major.  "I 
heard  all  you  said  about  a  short  acquaintance  —  a  few  hours 
you  called  it  —  but  that  your  heart  was  bent  upon  it,  all  the 
same.  And  then  you  went  on  about  India  ;  what  an  elegant 
place  it  was,  and  the  fine  pay  and  the  great  allowances. 
And  ready  enough  she  was  to  believe  it  all,  for  I  suppose 
she  was  sworn  at  Highgate,  and  would  n't  take  the  Captain 
if  she  could  get  the  Colonel." 

By  this  time,  and  not  an  instant  earlier,  it  flashed  upon 
Hunter's  mind  that  M'Cormick  imagined  he  had  overheard 
a  proposal  of  marriage ;  and  so  amused  was  he  by  the 
blunder,  that  he  totally  drowned  his  anger  in  a  hearty  burst 
of  laughter. 

"  I  hope  that,  as  an  old  brother-officer,  you  '11  be  discreet, 
at  all  events,"  said  he,  at  last.  "  You  have  not  come  by 
the  secret  quite  legitimately,  and  I  trust  you  will  preserve 
it." 

"My  hearing  is  good,  and  my  eyesight  too,  and  I  mean 
to  use  them  both  as  long  as  they  're  spared  to  me." 

"It  was  your  tongue  that  I  referred  to,"  said  Hunter, 
more  gravely. 

"Ay,  I  know  it  was,"  said  the  Major,  craukily.  "My 
tongue  will  take  care  of  itself  also." 

"  In  order  to  make  its  task  the  easier,  then,"  said  Hunter, 
speaking  in  a  slow  and  serious  voice,  ' '  let  me  tell  you  that 


DARK  TIDINGS.  219 

your  eaves-dropping  has,  for  once  at  least,  misled  you. 
I  made  no  proposal,  such  as  you  suspected,  to  Miss  Dill. 
Nor  did  she  give  me  the  slightest  encouragement  to  do  so. 
The  conversation  you  so  unwarrantably  and  imperfectly 
overheard  had  a  totally  different  object,  and  I  am  not  at  all 
sorry  you  should  not  have  guessed  it.  So  much  for  the 
past.  Now  one  word  for  the  future.  Omit  my  name,  and 
all  that  concerns  me,  from  the  narrative  with  which  jou 
amuse  your  friends,  or,  take  my  word  for  it,  you  '11  have  to 
record  more  than  you  have  any  fancy  for.  This  is  strictly 
between  ourselves ;  but  if  you  have  a  desire  to  impart  it, 
bear  in  mind  that  I  shall  be  at  my  quarters  in  Kilkenny  till 
Tuesday  next." 

"You  may  spend  your  life  there,  for  anything  I  care," 
said  the  Major..  "Stop,  Billy;  pull  up.  I'll  get  down 
here. "  And  shuffling  off  the  car,  he  muttered  a  ' '  Good-day  " 
without  turning  his  head,  and  bent  his  steps  towards  a  nar- 
row lane  that  led  from  the  high-road. 

' '  Is  this  the  place  they  call  Lyrath  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel 
of  the  driver. 

"No,  your  honor.  We're  a  good  four  miles  from  it 
yet." 

The  answer  showed  Hunter  that  his  fellow-traveller  had 
departed  in  anger ;  and  such  was  the  generosity  of  his  nature, 
he  found  it  hard  not  to  overtake  him  and  make  his  peace 
with  him. 

"After  all,"  thought  he,  "he's  a  crusty  old  fellow,  and 
has  hugged  his  ill-temper  so  long,  it  may  be  more  congenial 
to  him  now  than  a  pleasanter  humor."  And  he  turned  his 
mind  to  other  interests  that  more  closely  touched  him.  Nor 
was  he  without  cares,  —  heavier  ones,  too,  than  his  happy 
nature  had  ever  yet  been  called  to  deal  with.  There  are  few 
more  painful  situations  in  life  than  to  find  our  advancement 
—  the  long' wished  and  strived-for  promotion  —  achieved  at 
the  cost  of  some  dearly  loved  friend ;  to  know  that  our  road 
to  fortune  had  led  us  across  the  fallen  figure  of  an  old  com- 
rade, and  that  he  who  would  have  been  the  first  to  hail  our 
success  is  already  bewailing  his  own  defeat.  This  was 
Hunter's  lot  at  the  present  moment.  He  had  been  sent  for 
to  hear  of  a  marvellous  piece  of  good-fortune.     His  name 


220  BARRINGTON. 

and  character,  well  known  in  India,  had  recommended  him 
for  an  office  of  high  trust,  —  tlie  Political  Resident  of  a  great 
native  court ;  a  position  not  alone  of  power  and  influence, 
but  as  certain  to  secure,  and  within  a  very  few  years,  a  con- 
siderable fortune.  It  was  the  Governor-General  who  had 
made  choice  of  him  ;  and  the  Prince  of  Wales,  in  the  brief 
interview  he  accorded  him,  was  delighted  with  his  frank  and 
soldierlike  manner,  his  natural  cheerfulness,  and  high  spirit. 
"  AVe're  not  going  to  unfrock  you.  Hunter,"  said  he,  gayly, 
in  dismissing  him.  "  You  shall  have  your  military  rank, 
and  all  the  steps  of  your  promotion.  We  only  make  you  a 
civilian  till  you  have  saved  some  lacs  of  rupees,  which  is 
what  I  hear  your  predecessor  has  forgotten  to  do." 

It  was  some  time  before  Hunter,  overjoyed  as  he  was, 
even  bethought  him  of  asking  who  that  predecessor  was. 
What  was  his  misery  when  he  heard  the  name  of  Ormsby 
Conyers,  his  oldest,  best  friend ;  the  man  at  whose  table  he 
had  sat  for  years,  whose  confidence  he  had  shared,  whose 
heart  was  open  to  him  to  its  last  secret!  "  No,"  said  he, 
"  this  is  impossible.  Advancement  at  such  a  price  has  no 
temptation  for  me.  I  will  not  accept  it."  He  wrote  his 
refusal  at  once,  not  assigning  any  definite  reasons,  but 
declaring  that,  after  much  thought  and  consideration,  he  had 
decided  the  post  was  one  he  could  not  accept  of.  The  Secre- 
tary, in  whose  province  the  affairs  of  India  lay,  sent  for  him, 
and,  after  much  pressing  and  some  ingenious  cross-question- 
ing, got  at  his  reasons.  "  These  may  be  all  reasonable 
scruples  on  your  part,"  said  he,  "  but  they  will  avail  your 
friend  nothing.  Conyers  must  go ;  for  his  own  interest  and 
character's  sake,  he  must  come  home  and  meet  the  charges 
made  against  him,  and  which,  from  their  very  contradictions, 
we  all  hope  to  see  him  treat  triumphantly :  some  alleging 
that  he  has  amassed  untold  wealth  ;  others  that  it  is,  as  a 
ruined  man,  he  has  involved  himself  in  the  intrigues  of  the 
native  rulers.  All  who  know  him  say  that  at  the  first  whis- 
per of  a  charge  against  him  he  will  throw  up  his  post  and 
come  to  England  to  meet  his  accusers.  And  now  let  me 
own  to  you  that  it  is  the  friendship  in  which  he  held  you  lay 
one  of  the  suggestions  for  your  choice.  We  all  felt  that  if 
a  man  ill-disposed  or  ungenerously  minded  to  Conyers  should 


DARK  TIDINGS.  221 

go  out  to  Agra,  numerous  petty  and  vexatious  accusations 
might  be  forthcoming ;  the  little  local  injuries  and  pressure, 
so  sure  to  beget  grudges,  would  all  rise  up  as  charges,  and 
enemies  to  the  fallen  man  spring  up  in  every  quarter.  It  is 
as  a  successor,  then,  you  can  best  serve  your  friend."  I 
need  not  dwell  on  the  force  and  ingenuity  with  which  this 
view  was  presented  ;  enough  that  I  say  it  was  successful,  and 
Hunter  returned  to  Ireland  to  take  leave  of  his  regiment, 
and  prepare  for  a  speedy  departure  to  India. 

Having  heard,  in  a  brief  note  from  young  Conyers,  his 
intentions  respecting  Tom  Dill,  Hunter  had  hastened  off  to 
prevent  the  possibility  of  such  a  scheme  being  carried  out. 
Not  wishing,  however,  to  divulge  the  circumstances  of  his 
friend's  fortune,  he  had  in  his  interview  with  the  doctor 
confined  himself  to  arguments  on  the  score  of  prudence. 
His  next  charge  was  to  break  to  Fred  the  tidings  of  his 
father's  troubles,  and  it  was  an  office  he  shrunk  from  with  a 
coward's  fear.  With  every  mile  he  went  his  heart  grew 
heavier.  The  more  he  thought  over  the  matter  the  more 
difficult  it  appeared.  To  treat  the  case  lightly,  might- savor 
of  heartlessness  and  levity;  to  approach  it  more  seriously, 
might  seem  a  needless  severity.  Perhaps,  too,  Conyers 
might  have  written  to  his  son;  he  almost  hoped  he  had,  and 
that  the  first  news  of  disaster  should  not  come  from  him. 

That  combination  of  high-heartedness  and  bashfulness, 
a  blended  temerity  and  timidity,  —  by  no  means  an  uncom- 
mon temperament,  — renders  a  man's  position  in  the  embar- 
rassments of  life  one  of  downright  suffering.  There  are 
operators  who  feel  the  knife  more  sensitively  than  the 
patients.  Few  know  what  torments  such  men  conceal  under 
a  manner  of  seeming  slap-dash  and  carelessness.  Hunter 
was  of  this  order,  and  would,  any  day  of  his  life,  far  rather 
have  confronted  a  real  peril  than  met  a  contingency  that 
demanded  such  an  address.  It  was,  then,  with  a  sense  of 
relief  he  learned,  on  arrival  at  the  barracks,  that  Conyers 
had  gone  out  for  a  walk,  so  that  there  was  a  reprieve  at  least 
of  a  few  hours  of  the  penalty  that  overhung  him. 

The  ti-umpet-call  for  the  mess  had  just  sounded  as  Con- 
yers gained  the  door  of  the  Colonel's  quarters,  and  Hunter 
taking  Fred's  arm,  they  crossed  the  barrack-square  together. 


222  BAKKINGTON. 

"I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you,  Coiiyers,"  said  he, 
hurriedly;  "part  of  it  unpleasant,  —  none  of  it,  indeed, 
very  gratifying—" 

"I  know  you  are  going  to  leave  us,  sir,"  said  Fred,  who 
perceived  the  more  than  common  emotion  in  the  other's 
manner.  "And  for  myself,  I  own  1  have  no  longer  any 
desire  to  remain  in  the  regiment.  I  might  go  further,  and 
say  no  more  zest  for  the  service.  It  was  through  your 
friendship  for  me  I  learned  to  curb  many  and  many  prompt- 
ings to  resistance,  and  when  you  go  —  " 

"I  am  very  sorry, —  very,  very  sorry  to  leave  you  all,"  said 
Hunter,  wuth  a  broken  voice.  "It  is  not  every  man  that 
proudly  can  point  to  seven-and-twenty-years'  service  in  a 
regiment  without  one  incident  to  break  the  hearty  cordiality 
that  bound  us.  "We  had  no  bickerings,  no  petty  jealousies 
amongst  us.  If  a  man  joined  us  who  wanted  partisanship 
and  a  set,  he  soon  found  it  better  to  exchange.  I  never 
expect  again  to  lead  the  happy  life  I  have  here,  and  I  'd 
rather  have  led  our  bold  squadrons  in  the  field  than  have 
been  a  General  of  Division."  Who  could  have  believed 
that  he,  whose  eyes  ran  over,  as  he  spoke  these  broken 
words,  was,  five  minutes  after,  the  gay  and  rattling  Colonel 
his  officers  always  saw  him,  full  of  life,  spirit,  and  anima- 
tion, jocularly  alluding  to  his  speedy  departure,  and  gayly 
speculating  on  the  comparisons  that  would  be  formed  be- 
tween himself  and  his  successor?  "I'm  leaving  him  the 
horses  in  good  condition,"  said  he;  "and  when  Hargrave 
learns  to  give  the  word  of  command  above  a  whisper,  and 
Eyreton  can  ride  without  a  backboard,  he  '11  scarcely  report 
you  for  inefficiency."  It  is  fair  to  add,  that  the  first- 
mentioned  officer  had  a  voice  like  a  bassoon,  and  the  second 
was  the  beau-ideal  of  dragoon  horsemanship. 

It  would  not  have  consisted  with  military  etiquette  to  have 
asked  the  Colonel  the  nature  of  his  promotion,  nor  as  to 
what  new  sphere  of  service  he  was  called.  Even  the  old 
Major,  his  contemporary,  dared  not  have  come  directly  to 
the  question ;  and  while  all  were  eager  to  hear  it,  the  utmost 
approach  was  by  an  insinuation  or  an  innuendo.  Hunter 
was  known  for  no  quality  more  remarkably  than  for  his  out- 
spoken frankness,   and  some  surprise  was  felt  that  in  his 


DARK  TIDINGS.  223 

returning  thanks  for  his  health  being  drank,  not  a  word 
should  escape  him  on  this  point;  but  the  anxiety  was  not 
lessened  by  the  last  words  he  spoke.  "It  may  be,  it  is 
more  than  likely,  I  shall  never  see  the  regiment  again ;  but 
the  sight  of  a  hussar  jacket  or  a  scarlet  busby  will  bring 
you  all  back  to  my  memory,  and  you  may  rely  on  it,  that 
whether  around  the  mess-table  or  the  bivouac  tire  my  heart 
will  be  with  you." 

Scarcely  had  the  cheer  that  greeted  the  words  subsided, 
when  a  deep  voice  from  the  extreme  end  of  the  table 
said, — 

"If  only  a  new-comer  in  the  regiment.  Colonel  Hunter,  I 
am  too  proud  of  my  good  fortune  not  to  associate  myself 
with  the  feelings  of  my  comrades,  and,  while  partaking  of 
their  deep  regrets,  I  feel  it  a  duty  to  contribute,  if  in  my 
power,  by  whatever  may  lighten  the  grief  of  our  loss.  Am 
I  at  liberty  to  do  so?  Have  I  your  free  permission,  I 
mean?" 

"I  am  fairly  puzzled  by  your  question,  Captain  Stapylton. 
I  have  not  the  very  vaguest  clew  to  your  meaning,  but,  of 
course,  you  have  my  permission  to  mention  whatever  you 
deem  proper." 

"It  is  a  toast  I  would  propose,  sir." 

"By  all  means.  The  thing  is  not  very  regular,  perhaps, 
but  we  are  not  exactly  remarkable  for  regularity  this  even- 
ing.    Fill,  gentlemen,  for  Captain  Stapyltou's  toast!" 

"Few  words  will  propose  it,"  said  Stapylton.  "We  have 
just  drank  Colonel  Hunter's  health  with  all  the  enthusiasm 
that  befits  the  toast,  but  in  doing  so  our  tribute  has  been 
paid  to  the  past;  of  the  present  and  the  future  we  have 
taken  no  note  whatever,  and  it  is  to  these  I  would  now  re- 
call you.  I  say,  therefore,  bumpers  to  the  health,  happiness, 
and  success  of  Major-General  Hunter,  Political  Resident 
and  Minister  at  the  Court  of  Agra!  " 

"No,  no!"  cried  young  Conyers,  loudly,  "this  is  amis- 
take.  It  is  my  father  —  it  is  Lieutenant-General  Conyers 
—  who  resides  at  Agra.  Am  I  not  right,  sir?"  cried  he, 
turning  to  the  Colonel. 

But  Hunter's  face,  pale  as  death  even  to  the  lips,  and  the 
agitation  with  which  he  grasped  Fred's  hand,  so  overcame 


224  BARRINGTON. 

the  youth  that  with  a  sudden  cry  he  sprang  from  his  seat, 
and  rushed  out  of  the  room,  llunter  as  quickly  followed 
him;  and  now  all  were  grouped  around  Stapylton,  eagerly 
questioning  and  inquiring  what  his  tidings  might  mean. 

"The  old  story,  gentlemen, — the  old  story,  with  which 
we  are  all  more  or  less  familiar  in  this  best  of  all  possible 
■worlds:  General  Hunter  goes  out  in  honor,  and  General 
Conyers  comes  home  in  —  well,  under  a  cloud,  —  of  course 
one  that  he  is  sure  and  certain  to  dispel.  I  conclude  the 
Colonel  would  rather  have  had  his  advancement  under  other 
circumstances;  but  in  this  game  of  leap-frog  that  we  call 
life,  we  must  occasionally  jump  over  our  friends  as  well  as 
our  enemies." 

"How  and  where  did  you  get  the  news?" 

"It  came  to  me  from  town.  I  heard  it  this  morning,  and 
of  course  I  imagined  that  the  Colonel  had  told  it  to  Conyers, 
whom  it  so  intimately  concerned.  I  hope  I  may  not  have 
been  indiscreet  in  what  I  meant  as  a  compliment." 

None  cared  to  offer  their  consolings  to  one  so  fully  capa- 
ble of  supplying  the  commodity  to  himself,  and  the  party 
broke  up  in  twos  or  threes,  moodily  seeking  their  own 
quarters,  and  brooding  gloomily  over  what  they  had  just 
witnessed. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 


LEAVING    HOME. 


I  WILL  ask  my  reader  now  to  turn  for  a  brief  space  to  the 
"Fisherman's  Home,"  which  is  a  scene  of  somewhat  unusual 
bustle.  The  Barringtons  are  preparing  for  a  journey,  and 
old  Peter's  wardrobe  has  been  displayed  for  inspection  along 
a  hedge  of  sweet-brier  in  the  garden,  —  an  arrangement 
devised  by  the  genius  of  Darby,  who  passes  up  and  down, 
with  an  expression  of  admiration  on  his  face,  the  sincerity 
of  which  could  not  be  questioned.  A  more  reflective  mind 
than  his  might  have  been  carried  away,  at  the  sight,  to 
thoughts  of  the  strange  passages  in  the  late  historj-  of  Ire- 
land, so  curiously  typified  in  that  motlej'  display.  There, 
was  the  bright  green  dress-coat  of  Daly's  club,  recalling  days 
of  political  excitement,  and  all  the  plottings  and  cabals  of  a 
once  famous  opposition.  There  was,  in  somewhat  faded 
splendor  it  must  be  owned,  a  court  suit  of  the  Duke  of  Port- 
land's day,  when  Irish  gentlemen  were  as  gorgeous  as  the 
courtiers  of  Versailles.  Here  came  a  grand  colonel's  uni- 
form, when  Barrington  commanded  a  regiment  of  Volun- 
teers; and  yonder  lay  a  friar's  frock  and  cowl,  relics  of  those 
"attic  nights"  with  the  Monks  of  the  Screw,  and  recalling 
memories  of  Avonmore  and  Curran,  and  Day  and  Parsons ; 
and  with  them  were  mixed  hunting-coats,  and  shooting- 
jackets,  and  masonic  robes,  and  "friendly  brother"  em 
blems,  and  long-waisted  garments,  and  swallow-tailed 
affectations  of  all  shades  and  tints,  —  reminders  of  a  time 
when  Buck  Whalley  was  the  eccentric,  and  Lord  Llandaff 
the  beau  of  Irish  society.  I  am  not  certain  that  Monmouth 
Street  would  have  endorsed  Darby's  sentiment  as  he  said, 
"There  was  clothes  there  for  a  king  on  his  throne!  "  but  it 
was  an  honestly  uttered  speech,  and  came  out  of  the  fulness 

VOL.    I. 15 


226  BARRINGTON. 

of  an  admiring  heart,  and  although  in  truth  he  was  nothing 
less  than  an  historian,  he  was  forcibly  struck  by  tlie  thought 
that  Ireland  must  have  been  a  grand  country  to  live  in,  in 
those  old  days  when  men  went  about  their  ordinary  avoca- 
tions in  such  splendor  as  he  saw  there. 

Nor  was  Peter  Barrington  himself  an  unmoved  spectator 
of  these  old  remnants  of  the  past.  Old  garments,  like  old 
letters,  bring  oftentimes  very  forcible  memories  of  a  long 
ago;  and  as  he  turned  over  the  purple-stained  Hap  of  a 
waistcoat,  he  bethought  him  of  a  night  at  Daly's,  when,  in 
returning  thanks  for  his  health,  his  shaking  hand  had  spilled 
that  identical  glass  of  Burgundy;  and  in  the  dun-colored 
tinge  of  a  hunting-coat  he  remembered  the  day  he  had 
plunged  into  the  Nore  at  Corrig  O'Neal,  himself  and  the 
huntsman,  alone  of  all  the  field,  to  follow  the  dogs! 

"Take  them  away.  Darby,  take  them  away;  they  only  set 
me  a-thinking  about  the  pleasant  companions  of  my  early 
life.  It  was  in  that  suit  there  I  moved  the  amendment  in 
'82,  when  Henry  Grattan  crossed  over  and  said,  '  Barrington 
will  lead  us  here,  as  he  does  in  the  hunting-field.'  Do 
you  see  that  peach-colored  waistcoat?  It  was  Lady  Caher 
embroidered  every  stitch  of  it  with  her  own  hands,  for  me." 

"Them  's  elegant  black  satin  breeches,"  said  Dai'by,  whose 
eyes  of  covetousness  were  actuallj'  rooted  on  the  object  of 
his  desire. 

"I  never  wore  them,"  said  Barrington,  with  a  sigh.  "I 
got  them  for  a  duel  with  Mat  Fortescue,  but  Sir  Toby  Blake 
shot  him  that  morning.    Poor  Mat!  " 

"And  I  suppose  you'll  never  wear  them  now.  You 
couldn't  bear  the  sight  then,"  said  Darby,  insinuatingly. 

"Most  likely  not,"  said  Barrington,  as  he  turned  away 
with  a  heavy  sigh.  Darby  sighed  also,  but  not  precisely 
in  the  same  spirit. 

Let  me  passingly  remark  that  the  total  unsuitability  to 
his  condition  of  any  object  seems  rather  to  enhance  its 
virtue  in  the  ej^es  of  a  lower  Irishman,  and  a  hat  or  a  coat 
which  he  could  not,  by  any  possibility,  wear  in  public, 
might  still  be  to  him  things  to  covet  and  desire. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  rag  fair?"  cried  Miss 
Barrington,  as  she  suddenly  came  in  front  of  the  exposed 


LEAVING  HOME. 


227 


wardrobe.    "You  are  not  surely  making  any  selections  from 
these  tawdry  absurdities,  brother,  for  your  journey?" 

"Well,  indeed,"  said  Barrington,  with  a  droll  twinkle  of 
his  eye,  "it  was  a  point  that  Darby  and  I  were  discussing 


as  you  came  up.  Darby  opines  that  to  make  a  suitable 
imp'^ression  upon  the  Continent,  I  must  not  despise  the  assist- 
ance of  dress,  and  he  inclines  much  to  that  Corbeau  coat 
with  the  cherry-colored  lining." 

"If  Darby  's  an  ass,  brother,  I  don't  imagine  it  is  a  good 


228  BARKINGTON. 

reason  to  consult  him,"  said  she,  angrily.  "Put  all  that 
trash  where  you  found  it.  Lay  out  your  master's  black 
clothes  and  the  gray  shooting-coat,  see  that  his  strong  boots 
are  in  good  repair,  and  get  a  serviceable  lock  on  that  valise." 

It  was  little  short  of  magic  the  spell  these  few  and  dis- 
tinctly uttered  words  seemed  to  work  on  Darby,  who  at  once 
descended  from  a  realm  of  speculation  and  scheming  to  the 
commonplace  world  of  duty  and  obedience.  "I  really 
wonder  how  you  let  yourself  be  imposed  on,  brother,  by 
the  assumed  simplicity  of  that  shrewd  fellow." 

''1  like  it,  Dinah,  I  positively  like  it,"  said  he,  with  a 
smile.  "I  watch  him  playing  the  game  with  a  pleasure 
almost  as  great  as  his  own;  and  as  I  know  that  the  stakes 
are  small,  I  'm  never  vexed  at  his  winning." 

"But  you  seem  to  forget  the  encouragement  this  impunity 
suggests." 

"Perhaps  it  does,  Dinah;  and  very  likely  his  little 
rogueries  are  as  much  triumphs  to  him  as  are  all  the  great 
political  intrigues  the  glories  of  some  grand  statesman." 

"Which  means  that  you  rather  like  to  be  cheated,"  said 
she,  scoffingly, 

"When  the  loss  is  a  mere  trifle,  I  don't  always  think  it 
ill  laid  out." 

"And  I,"  said  she,  resolutely,  "so  far  from  participating 
in  your  sentiment,  feel  it  to  be  an  insult  and  an  outrage. 
There  is  a  sense  of  inferiority  attached  to  the  position  of  a 
dupe  that  would  drive  me  to  any  reprisals." 

"I  always  said  it;  I  always  said  it,"  cried  he,  laughing. 
"The  women  of  our  family  monopolized  all  the  com- 
bativeness." 

Miss  Harrington's  eyes  sparkled,  and  her  cheek  glowed, 
and  she  looked  like  one  stung  to  the  point  of  a  very  angry 
rejoinder,  when  by  an  effort  she  controlled  her  passion,  and, 
taking  a  letter  from  her  pocket,  she  opened  it,  and  said, 
"This  is  from  Withering.  He  has  managed  to  obtain  all 
the  information  we  need  for  our  journey.  We  are  to  sail 
for  Ostend  by  the  regular  packet,  two  of  which  go  every 
week  from  Dover.  From  thence  there  are  stages  or  canal- 
boats  to  Bruges  and  Brussels,  cheap  and  commodious,  he 
says.     He  gives  us  the  names  of  two  hotels,  one  of  which 


LEAVDsG   HOME.  229 

—  the  'Lamb,'  at  Brussels  —  he  recommends  highly;  and 
the  Pension  of  a  certain  Madame  Ochteroogen,  at  Namur, 
will,  he  opines,  suit  us  better  than  an  inn.  In  fact,  this 
letter  is  a  little  road  book,  with  the  expenses  marked  down, 
and  we  can  quietly  count  the  cost  of  our  venture  before 
we  make  it." 

"I  'd  rather  not,  Dinah.  The  very  thought  of  a  limit  is 
torture  to  me.  Give  me  bread  and  water  every  day,  if  you 
like,  but  don't  rob  me  of  the  notion  that  some  fine  day  I  am 
to  be  regaled  with  beef  and  pudding." 

*'I  don't  wonder  that  we  have  come  to  beggary,"  said  she, 
passionately.  "I  don't  know  what  fortune  and  what  wealth 
could  compensate  for  a  temperament  like  yours." 

"You  may  be  right,  Dinah.  It  may  go  far  to  make  a 
man  squander  his  substance,  but  take  my  word  for  it,  it 
will  help  him  to  bear  up  under  the  loss." 

If  Barrington  could  have  seen  the  gleam  of  affection  that 
filled  his  sister's  eyes,  he  would  have  felt  what  love  her  heart 
bore  him ;  but  he  had  stooped  down  to  take  a  caterpillar  off 
a  flower,  and  did  not  mark  it. 

"Withering  has  seen  young  Conyers,"  she  continued,  as 
her  ej'es  ran  over  the  letter  "He  called  upon  him."  Bar- 
rington made  no  rejoinder,  though  she  waited  for  one. 
"The  poor  lad  was  in  great  affliction;  some  distressing 
news  from  India  —  of  what  kind  Withering  could  not  guess 

—  had  just  reached  him,  and  he  appeared  overwhelmed 
by  it." 

"He  is  very  young  for  sorrow,"  said  Bai*rington, 
feelingly. 

"Just  what  Withering  said;  "  and  she  read  out,  "  '  When 
I  told  him  that  I  had  come  to  make  an  araende  for  the 
reception  he  had  met  with  at  the  cottage,  he  stopped  me  at 
once,  and  said,  "  Great  griefs  are  the  cure  of  small  ones, 
and  you  find  me  under  a  very  heavy  affliction.  Tell  Miss 
Barrington  that  I  have  no  other  memories  of  the  '  Fisher- 
man's Home  '  than  of  all  her  kindness  towards  me."  '  " 

"Poor  bo}'!"  said  Barrington,  with  emotion.  "And  how 
did  Withering  leave  him  ?  " 

"Still  sad  and  suffering.  Struggling  too.  Withering 
thought,  between  a  proud  attempt  to  conceal  his  grief  and 


230  BARKINGTON. 

an  ardent  impulse  to  tell  all  about  it.  '  Had  you  been 
there,'  lie  writes,  'you'd  have  had  the  whole  story;  but  I 
saw  that  he  could  u't  stoop  to  open  his  heart  to  a  man.'  " 

"Write  to  him,  Dinah.  Write  and  ask  him  down  here 
for  a  couple  of  days." 

"You  forget  that  we  are  to  leave  this  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, brother. " 

"So  I  did.  I  forgot  it  completely.  Well,  what  if  he  were 
to  come  for  one  day  ?  What  if  you  were  to  say  come  over 
and  wish  us  good-bye?  " 

"It  is  so  like  a  man  and  a  man's  selfishness  never  to  con- 
sider a  domestic  difficulty,"  said  she,  tartly.  "So  long  as  a 
house  has  a  roof  over  it,  you  fancy  it  may  be  available  for 
hospitalities.  You  never  take  into  account  the  carpets  to  be 
taken  up,  and  the  beds  that  are  taken  down,  the  plate-chest 
that  is  packed,  and  the  cellar  that  is  w-alled  up.  Y"ou 
forget,  in  a  word,  that  to  make  that  life  you  find  so  very 
easy,  some  one  else  must  pass  an  existence  full  of  cares  and 
duties." 

"There  's  not  a  doubt  of  it,  Dinah.  There  's  truth  and 
reason  in  every  word  you  've  said." 

"I  will  write  to  him  if  you  like,  and  say  that  we  mean  to 
be  at  home  by  an  early  day  in  October,  and  that  if  he  is 
disposed  to  see  how  our  woods  look  in  autumn,  we  will  be 
well  pleased  to  have  him  for  our  guest." 

"Nothing  could  be  better.  Do  so,  Dinah.  I  owe  the 
young  fellow  a  reparation,  and  I  shall  not  have  an  easy 
conscience  till  I  make  it." 

"Ah,  brother  Peter,  if  your  moneyed  debts  had  only  given 
you  one-half  the  torment  of  your  moral  ones,  what  a  rich 
man  you  might  have  been  to-day !  " 

Long  after  his  sister  had  gone  away  and  left  him,  Peter 
Barrington  continued  to  muse  over  this  speech.  He  felt  it, 
felt  it  keenly  too,  but  in  no  bitterness  of  spirit. 

Like  most  men  of  a  lax  and  easy  temper,  he  could  mete 
out  to  himself  the  same  merciful  measure  he  accorded  to 
others,  and  be  as  forgiving  to  his  own  faults  as  to  theirs. 
"I  suppose  Dinah  is 'right,  though,"  said  he  to  himself. 
"I  never  did  know  that  sensitive  irritability  under  debt 
which  insures  solvency.     And  whenever  a  man  can  laugh  at 


LEAYEsG  HOME.  231 

a  dun,  he  is  pretty  sure  to  be  on  the  high-road  to  bank- 
ruptcy!  TTell,  well,  it  is  somewhat  late  to  try  and  reform, 
but  I'll  do  my  best!  "  And  thus  comforted,  he  set  about 
tying  up  fallen  rose-trees  and  removing  noxious  insects  with 
all  his  usual  zeal. 

"  I  half  wish  the  place  did  not  look  in  such  beauty,  just  as 
I  must  leave  it  for  a  while.  I  don't  think  that  japonica 
ever  had  as  many  flowers  before;  and  what  a  season  for 
tulips!  Not  to  speak  of  the  fruit.  There  are  peaches 
enough  to  stock  a  market.  I  wonder  what  Dinah  means  to 
do  with  them?  She  '11  be  sorely  grieved  to  make  them  over 
as  perquisites  to  Darby,  and  I  know  she  '11  never  consent  to 
have  them  sold.  No,  that  is  the  one  concession  she  cannot 
stoop  to.  Oh,  here  she  comes!  "What  a  grand  year  for 
the  wall  fruit,  Dinah!  "  cried  he,  aloud. 

"The  apricots  have  all  failed,  and  fully  one-half  of  the 
peaches  are  worm-eaten,"  said  she,  dryly. 

Peter  sighed  as  he  thought,  how  she  does  dispel  an  illu- 
sion, what  a  terrible  realist  is  this  same  sister!  "Still, 
my  dear  Dinah,  one-half  of  such  a  crop  is  a  goodly  yield." 

"Out  with  it,  Peter  Barrington.  Out  with  the  question 
that  is  burning  for  utterance.  What's  to  be  done  with 
them  ?  I  have  thought  of  that  already.  I  have  told  Polly 
Dill  to  preserve  a  quantity  for  us,  and  to  take  as  much  more 
as  she  pleases  for  her  own  use,  and  make  presents  to  her 
friends  of  the  remainder.  She  is  to  be  mistress  here  while 
■we  are  away,  and  has  promised  to  come  up  two  or  three 
times  a  week,  and  see  after  everything,  for  I  neither  desire 
to  have  the  flower-roots  sold,  nor  the  pigeons  eaten  before 
our  return." 

"That  is  an  admirable  arrangement,  sister.  I  don't  know 
a  better  girl  than  Polly !  " 

"She  is  better  than  I  gave  her  credit  for,"  said  Miss  Bar- 
rington, who  was  not  fully  pleased  at  any  praise  not  be- 
stowed by  herself.  A  man's  estimate  of  a  young  woman's 
goodness  is  not  so  certain  of  finding  acceptance  from  her 
own  sex!  "And  as  for  that  girl,  the  wonder  is  that  with  a 
fool  for  a  mother,  and  a  crafty  old  knave  for  a  father,  she 
really  should  possess  one  good  ti'ait  or  one  amiable  quality." 
Barrington  muttered  what  sounded  like  concurrence,  and  she 


232  BARRINGTON. 

went  on:  "And  it  is  for  this  reason  I  have  taken  an  interest 
in  her,  and  hope,  by  occupying  her  mind  with  useful  cares 
and  filling  her  hours  with  commendable  duties,  she  will 
estrange  herself  from  that  going  about  to  fine  houses,  and 
frequenting  society  where  she  is  exposed  to  innumerable 
humiliations,  and  worse." 

"Worse,  Dinah!  —  what  could  be  worse?" 

"Temptations  are  worse,  Peter  Barringtou,  even  when 
not  yielded  to;  for  like  a  noxious  climate,  which,  though  it 
fails  to  kill,  it  is  certain  to  injure  the  constitution  during  a 
lifetime.  Take  my  word  for  it,  she  '11  not  be  the  better  wife 
to  the  Curate  for  the  memory  of  all  the  fine  speeches  she 
once  heard  from  the  Captain.  Very  old  and  ascetic  notions 
I  am  quite  aware,  Peter;  but  please  to  bear  in  mind  all  the 
trouble  we  take  that  the  roots  of  a  favorite  tree  should  not 
strike  into  a  sour  soil,  and  bethink  you  how  very  indifferent 
we  are  as  to  the  daily  associates  of  our  children!  " 

"There  you  are  right,  Dinah,  there  you  are  right, — at 
least,  as  regards  girls." 

"And  the  rule  applies  fully  as  much  to  boys.  All  those 
manly  accomplishments  and  out-of-door  habits  you  lay  such 
store  by,  could  be  acquired  without  the  intimacy  of  the 
groom  or  the  friendship  of  the  gamekeeper.  What  are  you 
muttering  there  about  old-maids'  children?  Say  it  out,  sir, 
and  defend  it,  if  you  have  the  courage!  " 

But  either  that  he  had  not  said  it,  or  failed  in  the  requi- 
site boldness  to  maintain  it,  he  blundered  out  a  very  con- 
fused assurance  of  agreement  on  every  point. 

A  woman  is  seldom  merciful  in  argument;  the  conscious- 
ness that  she  owes  victory  to  her  violence  far  more  than  to 
her  logic,  prompts  persistence  in  the  course  she  has  followed 
so  successfully,  and  so  was  it  that  Miss  Dinah  contrived  to 
gallop  over  the  battlefield  long  after  the  enemy  was  routed ! 
But  Barrington  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  vexed ;  the  thought 
of  the  journey  filled  him  with  so  man}'  pleasant  anticipa- 
tions, the  brightest  of  all  being  the  sight  of  poor  George's 
child!  Not  that  this  thought  had  not  its  dark  side,  in  con- 
trition for  the  long,  long  years  he  had  left  her  unnoticed  and 
neglected.  Of  course  he  had  his  own  excuses  and  apologies 
for  all  this :  he  could  refer  to  his  overwhelming  embarrass- 


LEAVING  HOME.  233 

ments,  aud  the  heavy  cares  that  surrounded  him ;  but  then 
she  —  that  poor  friendless  girl,  that  orphan  —  could  have 
known  nothing  of  these  things;  and  what  opinion  might  she 
not  have  formed  of  those  relatives  who  had  so  coldly  and 
heartlessly  abandoned  her!  Barrington  took  down  her  min- 
iature, painted  when  she  was  a  mere  infant,  and  scanned  it 
well,  as  though  to  divine  what  nature  might  possess  her! 
There  was  little  for  speculation  there, —  perhaps  even  less  for 
hope!  The  eyes  were  large  and  lustrous,  it  is  true,  but  the 
brow  was  heavy,  and  the  mouth,  even  in  infancy,  had  some- 
thing that  seemed  like  firmness  and  decision, — strangely 
at  variance  with  the  lips  of  childhood. 

Now,  old  Barrington 's  heart  was  deeply  set  on  that  law- 
suit—  that  great  cause  against  the  Indian  Government  — 
that  had  formed  the  grand  campaign  of  his  life.  It  was 
his  first  waking  thought  of  a  morning,  his  last  at  night. 
All  his  faculties  were  engaged  in  revolving  the  various  points 
of  evidence,  and  imagining  how  this  and  that  missing  link 
might  be  supplied;  aud  yet,  with  all  these  objects  of  desire 
before  him,  he  would  have  given  them  up,  each  and  all,  to 
be  sure  of  one  thing,  —  that  his  granddaughter  might  be 
handsome!  It  was  not  that  he  did  not  value  far  above  the 
graces  of  person  a  number  of  other  gifts ;  he  would  not,  for 
an  instant,  have  hesitated,  had  he  to  choose  between  mere 
beauty  and  a  good  disposition.  If  he  knew  anything  of 
himself,  it  was  his  thorough  appreciation  of  a  kindly  nature, 
a  temper  to  bear  well,  and  a  spirit  to  soar  nobly;  but 
somehow  he  imagined  these  were  gifts  she  was  likely 
enough  to  possess.  George's  child  would  resemble  him ;  she 
would  have  his  light-heartedness  and  his  happy  nature,  but 
would  she  be  handsome?  It  is,  trust  me,  no  superficial  view 
of  life  that  attaches  a  great  price  to  personal  atractions, 
and  Barrington  was  one  to  give  these  their  full  value.  Had 
she  been  brought  up  from  childhood  under  his  roof,  he  had 
probably  long  since  ceased  to  think  of  such  a  point;  he 
would  have  attached  himself  to  her  by  the  ties  of  that 
daily  domesticity  which  grow  into  a  nature.  The  hundred 
little  cares  and  oflSces  that  would  have  fallen  to  her  lot  to 
meet,  would  have  served  as  links  to  bind  their  hearts;  but 
she  was  coming  to  them  a  perfect  stranger,  and  he  wished 


234  BARRINGTON. 

ardently  that  bis  first  impression  should  be  all  in  her 
favor. 

Now,  while  such  were  Barrington's  reveries,  bis  sister 
took  a  different  turn.  She  had  already  pictured  to  herself 
the  dark-orbed,  heavy-browed  child,  expanded  into  a  sallow- 
complexioued,  heavy-featured  girl,  ungainly  and  ungraceful, 
her  figure  neglected,  her  very  feet  spoiled  by  the  uncouth 
shoes  of  the  convent,  her  great  red  hands  untrained  to  all 
occupation  save  the  coarse  cares  of  that  half-menial  exist- 
ence. "As  my  brother  would  say,"  muttered  she,  "a  most 
unpromising  filly,  if  it  were  not  for  the  breeding." 

Both  brother  and  sister,  however,  kept  their  impressions  to 
themselves,  and  of  all  the  subjects  discussed  between  them 
not  one  word  betrayed  what  each  forecast  about  Joseph- 
ine. I  am  half  sorry  it  is  no  part  of  my  task  to  follow 
them  on  the  road,  and  yet  I  feel  I  could  not  impart  to  my 
reader  the  almost  boylike  enjoyment  old  Peter  felt  at  every 
stage  of  the  journey.  He  had  made  the  grand  tour  of  Europe 
more  than  half  a  century  before,  and  he  was  in  ecstasy  to 
find  so  much  that  was  unchanged  around  him.  There  were 
the  long-eared  caps,  and  the  monstrous  earrings,  and  the 
sabots,  and  the  heavily  tasselled  team  horses,  and  the  chim- 
ing church-bells,  and  the  old-world  equipages,  and  the 
strangely  undersized  soldiers,  — all  just  as  he  saw  them  last! 
And  every  one  was  so  polite  and  ceremonious,  and  so  idle 
and  so  unoccupied,  and  the  theatres  were  so  large  and  the 
newspapers  so  small,  and  the  current  coin  so  defaced,  and 
the  order  of  the  meats  at  dinner  so  inscrutable,  and  every 
one  seemed  contented  just  because  he  had  nothing  to  do. 

"Isn't  it  all  I  have  told  you,  Dinah  dear?  Don't  you 
perceive  how  accurate  my  picture  has  been?  And  is  it  not 
very  charming  and  enjoyable?" 

"They  are  the  greatest  cheats  I  ever  met  in  my  life, 
brother  Peter;  and  when  I  think  that  every  grin  that  greets 
us  is  a  matter  of  five  francs,  it  mars  considerably  the  pleas- 
ure I  derive  from  the  hilarity." 

It  was  in  this  spirit  they  journeyed  till  they  arrived  at 
Brussels. 


CHAPTER    XXin. 


THE   COLONEL  S    COUNSELS. 


"When  Conyers  had  learned  from  Colonel  Hunter  all  that  he 
knew  of  his  father's  involvement,  it  went  no  further  than 
this,  that  the  Lieutenant-General  had  either  resigned  or 
been  deprived  of  his  civil  appointments,  and  Hunter  was 
called  upon  to  replace  him.  With  all  his  habit  of  hasty 
and  impetuous  action,  there  was  no  injustice  in  Fred's 
nature,  and  he  frankly  recognized  that,  however  painful  to 
him  personally,  Hunter  could  not  refuse  to  accede  to  what 
the  Prince  had  distinctly  pressed  him  to  accept. 

Young  Conyers  had  heard  over  and  over  again  the  aston- 
ishment expressed  by  old  Indian  officials  how  his  father's 
treatment  of  the  Company's  orders  had  been  so  long  endured. 
Some  prescriptive  immunity  seemed  to  attach  to  him,  or 
some  great  patronage  to  protect  him,  for  he  appeared  to  do 
exactly  as  he  pleased,  and  the  despotic  sway  of  his  rule  was 
known  far  and  near.  With  the  changes  in  the  constitution 
of  the  Board,  some  members  might  have  succeeded  less 
disposed  to  recognize  the  General's  former  services,  or 
endure  so  tolerantly  his  present  encroachments,  and  Fred 
well  could  estimate  the  resistance  his  father  would  oppose 
to  the  very  mildest  remonstrance,  and  how  indignantly  he 
would  reject  whatever  came  in  the  shape  of  a  command. 
Great  as  was  the  blow  to  the  young  man,  it  was  not  heavier 
in  anything  than  the  doubt  and  uncertainty  about  it,  and 
he  waited  with  a  restless  impatience  for  his  father's  letter, 
which  should  explain  it  all.  Nor  was  his  position  less 
painful  from  the  estrangement  in  which  he  lived,  and  the 
little  intercourse  he  maintained  with  his  brother-officers. 
When  Hunter  left,  he  knew  that  he  had  not  one  he  could 
call  friend  amongst  them,  and  Hunter  was  to  go  in  a  very 


236  BAHRINGTON. 

few  days,  and  even  of  these  be  could  scarcely  spare  him 
more  than  a  few  chance  moments! 

It  was  in  one  of  these  flitting  visits  that  Hunter  bethought 
him  of  3'oung  Dill,  of  whom,  it  is  only  truth  to  confess, 
young  Conyers  had  forgotten  everything.  "I  took  time  by 
the  forelock,  Fred,  about  that  affair,"  said  he,  "and  I  trust 
I  have  freed  you  from  all  embarrassment  about  it." 

"As  how,  sir?  "  asked  Conyers,  half  in  pique. 

"When  I  missed  you  at  the  'Fisherman's  Home,'  I  set  off 
to  pay  the  doctor  a  visit,  and  a  very  charming  visit  it  turned 
out;  a  better  pigeon-pie  I  never  ate,  nor  a  prettier  girl  than 
the  maker  of  it  would  I  ask  to  meet  with.  AVe  became  great 
friends,  talked  of  everything,  from  love  at  first  sight  to 
bone  spavins,  and  found  that  we  agreed  to  a  miracle.  I 
don't  think  I  ever  saw  a  girl  before  who  suited  me  so  per- 
fectly in  all  her  notions.  She  gave  me  a  hint  about  what 
they  call  '  mouth  lameness  '  our  Vet  would  give  his  eye  for. 
Well,  to  come  back  to  her  brother,  —  a  dull  dog,  I  take  it, 
though  I  have  not  seen  him,  — I  said,  '  Don't  let  him  go  to 
India,  they  've  lots  of  clever  fellows  out  there;  pack  him  off 
to  Australia;  send  him  to  New  Zealand.'  And  when  she 
interrupted  me,  '  But  young  Mr.  Conyers  insisted,  —  he 
would  have  it  so;  his  father  is  to  make  Tom's  fortune,  and 
to  send  him  back  as  rich  as  a  Begum,'  I  said,  '  He  has 
fallen  in  love  with  you.  Miss  Polly,  that's  the  fact,  and 
lost  his  head  altogether;  and  I  don't  wonder  at  it,  for  here 
am  I,  close  upon  forty-eight,  —  I  might  have  said  forty- 
nine,  but  no  matter,  —  close  upon  forty-eight,  and  I  'm  in 
the  same  book! '  Yes,  if  it  was  the  sister,  vice  the  brother, 
who  wanted  to  make  a  fortune  in  India,  I  almost  think  I 
could  say,  '  Come  and  share  mine ! '  " 

"But  I  don't  exactly  understand.  Am  I  to  believe  that 
they  wish  Tom  to  be  off  —  to  refuse  my  offer  —  and  that  the 
rejection  comes  from  them  ?  " 

"No,  not  exactly.  I  said  it  was  a  bad  spec,  that  you  had 
taken  a  far  too  sanguine  view  of  the  whole  thing,  and  that 
as  I  was  an  old  soldier,  and  knew  more  of  the  world,  —  that 
is  to  say,  had  met  a  great  many  more  hard  rubs  and  disap- 
pointments, —  my  advice  was,  not  to  risk  it.  '  Young  Con- 
yers,' said  I,  '  will  do  all  that  he  has  promised  to  the  letter. 


THE  COLONEL'S  COUNSELS.  237 

You  may  rely  upon  every  word  that  he  has  ever  uttered. 
But  bear  in  inind  that  he's  only  a  mortal  man;  he's  not 
one  of  those  heathen  gods  who  used  to  make  fellows  invin- 
cible in  a  battle,  or  smuggle  them  off  in  a  cloud,  out  of  the 
Avay  of  demons,  or  duns,  or  whatever  difficulties  beset  them. 
He  might  die,  his  father  might  die,  any  of  us  might  die.' 
Yes,  by  Jove!  there's  nothing  so  uncertain  as  life,  except 
the  Horse  Guards.  '  And  putting  one  thing  with  another, 
Miss  Polly,'  said  I,  '  tell  him  to  stay  where  he  is,' — open 
a  shop  at  home,  or  go  to  one  of  the  colonies,  — Heligoland, 
for  instance,  a  charming  spot  for  the  bathing-season." 

"And  she,  what  did  she  say?" 

"May  I  be  cashiered  if  I  remember!  I  never  do  remember 
very  clearly  what  any  one  says.  Where  I  am  much  inter- 
ested on  my  own  side,  I  have  no  time  for  the  other  fellow's 
arguments.  But  I  know  if  she  was  n't  convinced  she  ought 
to  have  been.  I  put  the  thing  beyond  a  question,  and  I 
made  her  cry." 

"Made  her  cry! " 

"Not  cry,  — that  is,  she  did  not  blubber;  but  she  looked 
glassy  about  the  lids,  and  turned  away  her  head.  But  to 
be  sure  we  were  parting,  —  a  rather  soft  bit  of  parting,  too, 

—  and  I  said  something  about  my  coming  back  with  a 
wooden  leg,  and  she  said,  '  No!  have  it  of  cork,  they  make 
them  so  cleverly  now.'  And  I  was  going  to  say  something 
more,  when  a  confounded  old  half-pay  Major  came  up  and 
interrupted  us,  and  —  and,  in  fact,  there  it  rests." 

"I  'm  not  at  all  easy  in  mind  as  to  this  affair.  I  mean,  I 
don't  like  how  I  stand  in  it." 

"But  you  stand  out  of  it,  — out  of  it  altogether!  Can't 
you  imagine  that  your  father  may  have  quite  enough  cares 
of  his  own  to  occupy  him  without  needing  the  embarrassment 
of  looking  after  this  bumpkin,  who,  for  aught  you  know, 
might  repay  very  badly  all  the  interest  taken  in  him  ?  If  it 
had  been  the  girl,  —  if  it  had  been  Polly  —  " 

"I  own  frankly,"  said  Conyers,  tartly,  "it  did  not  occur 
to  me  to  make  such  an  offer  to  her  !  " 

"Faith!  then.  Master  Fred,  I  was  deuced  near  doing  it, 

—  so  near,  that  when  I  came  away  I  scarcely  knew  whether 
I  had  or  had  not  done  so." 


238  BAKRINGTON. 

"Well,  sir,  there  is  only  an  hour's  drive  on  a  good  road 
required  to  repair  the  omission." 

"That's  true,  Fred,  —  that's  true;  but  have  you  never, 
by  an  accident,  chanced  to  come  up  with  a  stunning  fence, 
—  a  regular  rasper  that  3'ou  took  in  a  lly  a  few  days  before 
with  the  dogs,  and  as  you  looked  at  the  place,  have  you  not 
said,  '  What  on  earth  persuaded  me  to  ride  at  tJiat  ?  '  " 

"Which  means,  sir,  that  3'our  cold-blooded  reflections  are 
against  the  project?  " 

"Not  exactly  that,  either,"  said  he,  in  a  sort  of  confu- 
sion; "but  when  a  man  speculates  on  doing  something  for 
which  the  first  step  must  be  an  explanation  to  this  fellow, 
a  half  apology  to  that,  —  with  a  whimpering  kind  of  entreaty 
not  to  be  judged  hastily,  not  to  be  condemned  unheard, 
not  to  be  set  down  as  an  old  fool  who  could  n't  stand  the 
fire  of  a  pair  of  bright  eyes,  —  I  say  when  it  comes  to  this, 
he  ought  to  feel  that  his  best  safeguard  is  his  own 
misgiving!  " 

"  If  I  do  not  agree  with  you,  sir,  it  is  because  I  incline  to 
follow  my  own  lead,  and  care  very  little  for  what  the  world 
says  of  it." 

"Don't  believe  a  word  of  that,  Fred;  it's  all  brag,  — all 
nonsense!  The  very  effrontery  with  which  you  fancy  you 
are  braving  public  opinion  is  only  Dutch  courage.  AVhat 
each  of  us  in  bis  heart  thinks  of  himself  is  only  the  reflex  of 
the  world's  estimate  of  him;  at  least,  what  he  imagines  it  to 
be.  Now,  for  my  own  part,  I  'd  rather  ride  up  to  a  battery 
in  full  fire  than  I  'd  sit  down  and  write  to  my  old  aunt 
Dorothy  Hunter  a  formal  letter  announcing  my  approaching 
marriage,  telling  her  that  the  lad}'  of  my  choice  was  twenty 
or  thereabouts,  not  to  add  that  her  family  name  was  Dill. 
Believe  me,  Fred,  that  if  you  want  the  concentrated  essence 
of  public  opinion,  you  have  only  to  do  something  which 
shall  irritate  and  astonish  the  half-dozen  people  with  whom 
you  live  in  intimacy.  Won't  they  remind  you  about  the 
mortgages  on  your  lands  and  the  gray  in  your  whiskers, 
that  last  loan  you  raised  from  Solomon  Hymans,  and  that 
fi'ont  tooth  you  got  replaced  by  Cartwright,  though  it  was 
the  week  before  they  told  you  you  were  a  miracle  of  order 
and  good  management,  and  actually  looking  younger  thau 


THE  COLONEL'S  COUNSELS.  239 

you  did  five  years  ago!  You're  not  miuding  me,  Fred, 
—  not  following  me;  you  're  thinking  of  your  protege,  Tom 
Dill,  and  what  he  '11  think  and  say  of  your  desertion  of 
him." 

"You  have  hit  it,  sir.  It  was  exactly  what  I  was  asking 
myself." 

"Well,  if  nothing  better  offers,  tell  him  to  get  himself  in 
readiness,  and  come  out  with  me.  I  cannot  make  him  a 
Rajah,  nor  even  a  Zemindar;  but  I'll  stick  him  into  a  regi- 
mental surgeoncy,  and  leave  him  to  fashion  out  his  own 
future.  He  must  look  sharp,  however,  and  lose  no  time. 
The  '  Ganges '  is  getting  ready  in  all  haste,  and  will  be 
round  at  Portsmouth  by  the  8th,  and  we  expect  to  sail  on 
the  12th  or  13th  at  furthest." 

"  I  '11  write  to  him  to-day.     I  '11  write  this  moment." 

"Add  a  word  of  remembrance  on  my  part  to  the  sister, 
and  tell  bumpkin  to  supply  himself  with  no  end  of  letters, 
recommendatory  and  laudatory,  to  muzzle  our  Medical 
Board  at  Calcutta,  and  lots  of  light  clothing,  and  all  the 
torturing  instruments  he  '11  need,  and  a  large  stock  of  good 
humor,  for  he'll  be  chaffed  unmercifully  all  the  voyage." 
And,  with  these  comprehensive  directions,  the  Colonel  con- 
cluded his  counsels,  and  bustled  away  to  look  after  his  own 
personal  interests. 

Fred  Conyers  was  not  over-pleased  with  the  task  assigned 
him.  The  part  he  liked  to  fill  in  life,  and,  indeed,  that 
which  he  had  usually  performed,  was  the  Benefactor  and 
the  Patron,  and  it  was  but  an  ungracious  office  for  him  to 
have  to  cut  the  wings  and  disfigure  the  plumage  of  his  gen- 
erosity. He  made  two,  three,  four  attempts  at  conveying 
his  intentions,  but  with  none  was  he  satisfied ;  so  he  ended 
by  simply  saying,  "I  have  something  of  importance  to  tell 
you,  and  which,  not  being  altogether  pleasant,  it  will  be 
better  to  say  than  to  write;  so  I  have  to  beg  you  will  come 
up  here  at  once,  and  see  me."  Scarcely  was  this  letter 
sealed  and  addressed  than  he  bethought  him  of  the  awkward- 
ness of  presenting  Tom  to  his  brother-officers,  or  the  still 
greater  indecorum  of  not  presenting  him.  "How  shall  I  ask 
him  to  the  mess,  with  the  certainty  of  all  the  impertinences 
he  will  be  exposed  to?  —  and  what  pretext  have  I  for  not 


240  BARRINGTON. 

offering  him  the  ordinary  attention  shown  to  every  stran- 
ger?" He  was,  in  fact,  wincing  under  that  public  opinion 
he  had  only  a  few  moments  before  declared  he  could  afford 
to  despise.  "No,"  said  he,  ''I  have  no  right  to  expose  poor 
Tom  to  this.  I  '11  drive  over  myself  to  the  village,  and  if 
any  advice  or  counsel  be  needed,  he  will  be  amongst  those 
who  can  aid  him." 

He  ordered  his  servant  to  harness  his  handsome  roan,  a 
thoroughbred  of  surpassing  style  and  action,  to  the  dog-cart, 
• — not  over-sorry  to  astonish  his  friend  Tom  by  the  splendor 
of  a  turn-out  that  had  won  the  suffrages  of  Tattersall's,  — 
and  prepared  for  his  mission  to  Inistioge. 

Was  it  with  the  same  intention  of  "astonishing  "  Tom  Dill 
that  Conyers  bestowed  such  unusual  attention  upon  his 
dress?  At  his  first  visit  to  the  "Fisherman's  Home "  he 
had  worn  the  homely  shooting-jacket  and  felt  hat  which, 
however  comfortable  and  conventional,  do  not  always  re- 
dound to  the  advantage  of  the  wearer,  or,  if  they  do,  it  is  by 
something,  perhaps,  in  the  contrast  presented  to  his  ordi- 
nary appearance,  and  the  impression  ingeniously  insinuated 
that  he  is  one  so  unmistakably  a  gentleman,  no  travesty  of 
costume  can  efface  the  stamp. 

It  was  in  this  garb  Polly  had  seen  him,  and  if  Polly  Dill 
had  been  a  duchess  it  was  in  some  such  garb  she  would  have 
been  accustomed  to  see  her  brother  or  her  cousin  some  six 
out  of  every  seven  mornings  of  the  week;  but  Polly  was 
not  a  duchess :  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  village  doctor,  and 
might,  not  impossibly,  have  acquired  a  very  erroneous  esti- 
mate of  his  real  pretensions  from  having  beheld  him  thus 
attired.  It  was,  therefore,  entirely  by  a  consideration  for 
her  ignorance  of  the  world  and  its  ways  that  he  determined 
to  enlighten  her. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing,  the  dress  of  the  Brit- 
ish army  was  a  favorite  study  with  that  Prince  whose  taste, 
however  questionable,  never  exposed  him  to  censure  on 
grounds  of  over-simplicity  and  plainness.  As  the  Colonel 
of  the  regiment  Conyers  belonged  to,  he  had  bestowed  upon 
his  own  especial  corps  an  unusual  degree  of  splendor  in 
equipment,  and  amongst  other  extravagances  had  given  them 
an  almost  boundless  liberty  of  combining  different  details 


THE  COLONEL'S  COUNSELS.  241 

of  dress.  Availing  himself  of  this  privilege,  our  young 
Lieutenant  invented  a  costume  which,  however  uumilitary 
and  irregular,  was  not  deficient  in  becomingness.  Under  a 
plain  blue  jacket  very  sparingly  braided  he  wore  the  rich 
scarlet  Avaistcoat,  all  slashed  with  gold,  they  had  introduced 
at  their  mess.  A  simple  foraging-cap  and  overalls,  seamed 
with  a  thin  gold  line,  made  up  a  dress  that  might  have 
passed  for  the  easy  costume  of  the  barrack-yard,  while,  in 
reality,  it  was  eminently  suited  to  set  off  the  wearer. 

Am  I  to  confess  that  he  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass 
with  very  considerable  satisfaction,  and  muttered,  as  he 
turned  away,  "Yes,  Miss  Polly,  this  is  in  better  style  than 
that  Quakerish  drab  livery  you  saw  me  last  in,  and  I  have 
little  doubt  that  you  '11  think  so!  " 

"Is  this  our  best  harness,  Holt?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"AU  right!" 


VOL.   I. —  16 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CONYERS   MAKES   A   MORNING    CALL. 

"When  Couyers,  to  the  astonishment  and  wonder  of  an 
admiring  village  public,  drove  his  seventeen-haud-high  roan 
into  the  market  square  of  Inistioge,  he  learned  that  all  of  the 
doctor's  family  were  from  home  except  Mrs.  Dill.  Indeed, 
he  saw  the  respectable  lady  at  the  window  with  a  book  in  her 
hand,  from  which  not  all  the  noise  and  clatter  of  his  arrival 
for  one  moment  diverted  her.  Though  not  especially  anx- 
ious to  attract  her  attention,  he  was  half  piqued  at  her  show 
of  indifference.  A  dog-cart  by  Adams  and  a  thoroughbred 
like  Boanerges  were,  after  all,  worth  a  glance  at.  Little  did 
he  know  what  a  competitor  he  had  in  that  much-thumbed 
old  volume,  whose  quaintly  told  miseries  were  to  her  as  her 
own  sorrows.  Could  he  have  assembled  underneath  that 
window  all  the  glories  of  a  Derby  Day,  Mr.  Richardson's 
"  Clarissa"  would  have  beaten  the  field.  While  he  occupied 
himself  in  dexterously  tapping  the  flies  from  his  horse  with 
the  fine  extremity  of  his  whip,  and  thus  necessitating  that 
amount  of  impatience  which  made  the  spirited  animal  stamp 
and  champ  his  bit,  the  old  lady  read  on  undisturbed. 

"Ask  at  what  hour  the  doctor  will  be  at  home.  Holt," 
cried  he,  peevishly. 

"  Not  till  to-morrow,  sir;  he  has  gone  to  Castle  Durrow." 

"  And  Miss  Dill,  is  she  not  in  the  house?  " 

"  No,  sir;  she  has  gone  down  to  the  '  Fisherman's  Home ' 
to  look  after  the  garden,  —  the  family  having  left  that  place 
this  morning." 

After  a  few  minutes'  reflection,  Conyers  ordered  his 
servant  to  put  up  the  horse  at  the  inn,  and  wait  for  him 
there;  and  then  engaging  a  "cot,"  he  set  out  for  the 
*'  Fisherman's    Home."       "  After   having   come   so   far,    it 


CONYERS  MAKES  A   MORNING   CALL.  243 

would  be  absurd  to  go  back  without  doiug  something  in  this 
business,"  thought  he.  "Polly,  besides,  is  the  brains 
carrier  of  these  people.  The  matter  would  be  referred  to 
her;  and  why  should  I  not  go  at  once,  and  directly  address 
her  myself?  "With  her  womanly  tact,  too,  she  will  see 
that  for  any  reserve  in  my  manner  there  must  be  a  corre- 
sponding reason,  and  she'll  not  press  me  with  awkward 
questions  or  painful  inquiries,  as  the  underbred  brother 
might  do.  It  will  be  enough  when  I  intimate  to  her  that 
my  plan  is  not  so  practicable  as  when  I  first  projected  it." 
He  reassured  himself  with  a  variety  of  reasonings  of  this 
stamp,  which  had  the  double  effect  of  convincing  his  own 
mind  and  elevating  Miss  Polly  in  his  estimation.  There  is 
a  very  subtle  self-tiattery  in  believing  that  the  true  order  of 
person  to  deal  with  us  —  to  understand  and  appreciate  us  — 
is  one  possessed  of  considerable  ability  united  with  the  very 
finest  sensibility.  Thus  dreaming  and  "  mooning,"  he 
reached  the  "Fisherman's  Home."  The  air  of  desertion 
struck  him  even  as  he  landed  ;  and  is  there  not  some  secret 
magic  in  the  vicinity  of  life,  of  living  people,  which  gives 
the  soul  to  the  dwelling-place?  Have  we  to  more  than  cross 
the  threshold  of  the  forsaken  house  to  feel  its  desertion,  — 
to  know  that  our  echoing  step  will  track  us  along  stair  and 
corridor,  and  that  through  the  thin  streaks  of  light  between 
the  shutters  phantoms  of  the  absent  will  flit  or  hover,  while  the 
dimly  descried  objects  of  the  room  will  bring  memories  of 
bright  mornings  and  of  happy  eves?  It  is  strange  to  measure 
the  sadness  of  this  effect  upon  us  when  caused  even  by  the 
aspect  of  houses  which  we  frequented  not  as  friends  but 
mere  visitors  ;  just  as  the  sight  of  death  thrills  us,  even 
though  we  had  not  loved  the  departed  in  his  lifetime.  But 
so  it  is :  there  is  unutterable  bitterness  attached  to  the  past, 
and  there  is  no  such  sorrow  as  over  the  bygone ! 

All  about  the  little  cottage  was  silent  and  desolate  ;  even 
the  shrill  peacock,  so  wont  to  announce  the  coming  stranger 
with  his  cry,  sat  voiceless  and  brooding  on  a  branch ;  and 
except  the  dull  flow  of  the  river,  not  a  sound  was  heard. 
After  tapping  lightly  at  the  door  and  peering  through  the 
partially  closed  shutters,  Conyers  turned  towards  the  garden 
at  the  back,  passing  as  he  went  his  favorite  seat  under  the 


1^44  BARRIXGTON. 

great  sycamore-tree.  It  was  uot  a  widely  separated  "  long 
ago  "  since  he  had  sat  there,  and  yet  how  different  had  life 
become  to  him  in  the  interval !  "With  what  a  protective 
air  he  had  tallied  to  poor  Tom  on  that  spot,  —  how  priucely 
were  the  promises  of  his  patronage,  yet  not  exaggerated 
beyond  his  conscious  power  of  performance  !  He  hurried 
on,  and  came  to  the  little  wicket  of  the  garden ;  it  was  open, 
and  he  passed  in.  A  spade  in  some  fresh-turned  earth 
showed  where  some  one  had  recently  been  at  work,  but  still, 
as  he  went,  he  could  find  none.  Alley  after  alley  did  he 
traverse,  but  to  no  purpose ;  and  at  last,  in  his  ramblings, 
he  came  to  a  little  copse  which  separated  the  main  garden 
from  a  small  flower-plat,  known  as  Miss  Dinah's,  and  on 
which  the  windows  of  her  own  little  sitting-room  opened. 
He  had  but  seen  this  spot  from  the  windows,  and  never 
entered  it ;  indeed,  it  was  a  sort  of  sacred  enclosure,  within 
which  the  profane  step  of  man  was  not  often  permitted  to 
intrude.  Nor  was  Conyers  without  a  sting  of  self-reproach 
as  he  now  passed  in.  He  had  not  gone  many  steps  when 
the  reason  of  the  seclusion  seemed  revealed  to  him.  It 
was  a  small  obelisk  of  white  marble  under  a  large  willow- 
tree,  bearing  for  inscription  on  its  side,  "  To  the  Memory 
of  George  Barrington,  the  Truehearted,  the  Truthful,  and 
the  Brave,  killed  on  the  19th  February,  18 — ,  at  Agra,  in 
the  East  Indies." 

How  strange  that  he  should  be  standing  there  beside  the 
tomb  of  his  father's  dearest  friend,  his  more  than  brother! 
That  George  who  shared  his  joys  and  perils,  the  comrade  of 
his  heart!  No  two  men  had  ever  lived  in  closer  bonds  of 
affection,  and  yet  somehow  of  all  that  love  he  had  never 
heard  his  father  speak,  nor  of  the  terrible  fate  that  befell  his 
friend  had  one  syllable  escaped  him.  "  Who  knows  if 
friendships  ever  survive  early  manhood?"  said  Fred,  bit- 
terly, as  he  sat  himself  down  at  the  base  of  the  monument : 
"  and  yet  might  not  this  same  George  Barrington,  had  he 
lived,  been  of  priceless  value  to  my  father  now?  Is  it  not 
some  such  manly  affection,  such  generous  devotion  as  his, 
that  he  may  stand  in  need  of?"  Tlius  thinking,  his  imagi- 
nation led  him  over  the  wide  sea  to  that  far-distant  land  of 
his  childhood,  and  scenes  of  vast  arid  plains  and  far-away 


CO^'YERS  MAKES  A  MORNING  CALL.  245 

mountains,  and  wild  ghauts,  and  barren-looking  nullahs, 
intersected  with  yellow,  sluggish  streams,  on  whose  muddy 
shore  the  alligator  basked,  rose  before  him,  contrasted  with 
the  gorgeous  splendors  of  retinue  and  the  glittering  host  of 
gold-adorned  followers.  It  was  in  a  vision  of  grand  but 
dreary  despotism,  power  almost  limitless,  but  without  one 
ray  of  enjoyment,  that  he  lost  himself  and  let  the  hours 
glide  by.  At  length,  as  though  dreamily,  he  thought  he  was 
listening  to  some  faint  but  delicious  music ;  sounds  seemed 
to  come  floating  towards  him  through  the  leaves,  as  if  meant 
to  steep  him  in  a  continued  languor,  and  imparted  a  strange 
half-fear  that  he  was  under  a  spell.  AVith  an  effort  he 
aroused  himself  and  sprang  to  his  legs ;  and  now  he  could 
plainly  perceive  that  the  sounds  came  through  an  open  win- 
dow, where  a  low  but  exquisitely  sweet  voice  was  singing  to 
the  accompaniment  of  a  piano.  The  melody  was  sad  and 
plaintive ;  the  very  words  came  dropping  slowly,  like  the 
drops  of  a  distilled  grief  ;  and  they  sank  into  his  heart  with  a 
feeling  of  actual  poignancy,  for  they  were  as  though  steeped 
in  sorrow.  When  of  a  sudden  the  singer  ceased,  the  hands 
ran  boldly,  almost  wildly,  over  the  keys ;  one,  two,  three 
great  massive  chords  were  struck,  and  then,  in  a  strain  joy- 
ous as  the  skylark,  the  clear  voice  carolled  forth  with,  — 

"  But  why  should  we  mourn  for  the  grief  of  the  morrow  ? 
Who  knows  in  what  frame  it  may  find  us  ? 
Meeker,  perhaps,  to  hend  under  our  sorrow, 
Or  more  boldly  to  fling  it  behind  us." 

And  then,  with  a  loud  bang,  the  piano  was  closed,  and  Polly 
Dill,  swinging  her  gai'den  hat  by  its  ribbon,  bounded  forth 
into  the  walk,  calling  for  her  terrier.  Scratch,  to  follow. 

"  Mr.  Conyers  here !  "  cried  she,  in  astonishment.  "  What 
miracle  could  have  led  you  to  this  spot?" 

"■  To  meet  you." 

"  To  meet  me!  " 

"With  no  other  object.  I  came  from  Kilkenny  this 
morning  expressly  to  see  you,  and  learning  at  your  house 
that  you  had  come  on  here,  I  followed.  You  still  look 
astonished ,  —  incredulous  —  " 

"Oh,   no;  not  incredulous,   but  very   much   astonished. 


246  BAR  KINGTON. 

I  am,  it  is  true,  sufficiently  accustomed  to  fiud  myself  in 
request  iu  my  own  narrow  liome  circle,  but  that  any  one  out 
of  it  should  come  three  yards  —  not  to  say  three  miles  —  to 
speak  to  me,  is,  I  own,  very  new  and  very  strange." 

"  Is  not  this  profession  of  humility  a  little  —  a  very  little 
—  bit  of  exaggeration,  Miss  Dill?  " 

"  Is  not  the  remark  you  have  made  on  it  a  little  —  a  very 
little  —  bit  of  a  liberty,  Mr.  Conyers?" 

So  little  was  he  prepared  for  this  retort  that  he  flushed  up 
to  his  forehead,  and  for  an  instant  was  unable  to  recover 
himself :  meanwhile,  she  was  busy  in  rescuing  Scratch  from 
a  long  bramble  that  had  most  uncomfortably  associated  itself 
■with  his  tail,  in  gratitude  for  which  service  the  beast  jumped 
up  on  her  with  all  the  uncouth  activity  of  his  race. 

"He  at  least,  Miss  Dill,  can  take  liberties  unrebuked," 
said  Conyers,  with  irritation. 

"We  are  very  old  friends,  sir,  and  understand  each 
other's  humors,  not  to  say  that  Scratch  knows  well  he  'd  be 
tied  up  if  he  were  to  transgress." 

Conyers  smiled ;  an  almost  irresistible  desire  to  utter  a 
smartness  crossed  his  mind,  and  he  found  it  all  but  impos- 
sible to  resist  saying  something  about  accepting  the  bonds  if 
he  could  but  accomplish  the  transgression ;  but  he  bethought 
in  time  how  unequal  the  war  of  banter  would  be  between 
them,  and  it  was  with  a  quiet  gravity  he  began :  "  I  came 
to  speak  to  you  about  Tom  —  " 

"  Why,  is  that  not  all  off?  Colonel  Hunter  represented 
the  matter  so  forcibly  to  my  father,  put  all  the  difficulties  so 
clearly  before  him,  that  I  actually  wrote  to  my  brother,  who 
had  started  for  Dublin,  begging  him  on  no  account  to  hasten 
the  day  of  his  examination,  but  to  come  home  and  devote 
himself  carefully  to  the  task  of  preparation." 

"It  is  true,  the  Colonel  never  regarded  the  project  as  I 
did,  and  saw  obstacles  to  its  success  which  never  occurred 
to  me  /  with  all  that,  however,  he  never  convinced  me  I  was 
wrong." 

"  Perhaps  not  always  an  easy  thing  to  do,"  said  she, 
dryly. 

"  Indeed !  You  seem  to  have  formed  a  strong  opinion  on 
the  score  of  my  firmness." 


.(university  I 

\  ^^  y 

CONYEKS  MAKES  A  MORNING  CALL.  247 

"I  was  expecting  you  to  say  obstinacy,"  said  she,  laugh- 
ino-,  "  and  was  half  prepared  with  a  most  abject  retractation. 
At  all  events,  I  was  aware  that  you  did  not  give  way." 

"  And  is  the  quality  such  a  bad  one?" 

"  Just  as  a  wind  may  be  said  to  be  a  good  or  a  bad  one ; 
due  west,  for  instance,  would  be  very  unfavorable  if  you 
were  bound  to  New  York." 

It  was  the  second  time  he  had  angled  for  a  compliment, 
and  failed ;  and  he  walked  along  at  her  side,  fretful  and  dis- 
contented. "I  begin  to  suspect,"  said  he,  at  last,  "that 
the  Colonel  was  far  more  eager  to  make  himself  agreeable 
here  than  to  give  fair  play  to  my  reasons." 

"He  was  delightful,  if  you  mean  that;  he  possesses  the 
inestimable  boon  of  good  spirits,  which  is  the  next  thing  to 
a  good  heart." 

"  You  don't  like  depressed  people,  then?  " 

"I  won't  say  I  dislike,  but  I  dread  them.  The  dear 
friends  who  go  about  with  such  histories  of  misfortune  and 
gloomy  reflections  on  every  one's  conduct  always  give  me 
the  idea  of  a  person  who  should  carry  with  him  a  watering- 
pot  to  sprinkle  his  friends  in  this  Irish  climate,  where  it 
rains  ten  months  out  of  the  twelve.  There  is  a  deal  to  like 
in  life,  —  a  deal  to  enjoy,  as  well  as  a  deal  to  see  and  to  do ; 
and  the  spirit  which  we  bring  to  it  is  even  of  more  moment 
than  the  incidents  that  befall  us." 

"  That  was  the  burden  of  your  song  awhile  ago,"  said 
he;  smiling;  "  could  I  persuade  you  to  sing  it  again?" 

"  AVhat  are  you  dreaming  of,  Mr.  Conyers?  Is  not  this 
meeting  here  —  this  strolling  about  a  garden  with  a  young 
gentleman,  a  Hussar !  —  compromising  enough,  not  to  ask 
me  to  sit  down  at  a  piano  and  sing  for  him?  Indeed,  the 
only  relief  my  conscience  gives  me  for  the  imprudence  of 
this  interview  is  the  seeing  how  miserable  it  makes  yoti." 

"Miserable!  —  makes  me  miserable!" 

"Well,  embarrassed, — uncomfortable,  —  ill  at  ease;  I 
don't  care  for  the  word.  You  came  here  to  say  a  variety  of 
things,  and  you  don't  like  to  say  them.  You  are  balked  in 
certain  very  kind  intentions  towards  us,  and  you  don't  know 
how  very  little  of  even  intended  good  nature  has  befallen 
us  in  life  to  make  us  deeply  your  debtor  for  the  mere  pro- 


248  BARRINGTON. 

ject.  Why,  j'our  very  notice  of  poor  Tom  has  done  more 
to  raise  him  in  his  own  esteem  and  disgust  him  with  low 
associates  than  all  the  wise  arguments  of  all  his  family. 
There,  now,  if  you  have  not  done  us  all  the  good  you  meant, 
be  satisfied  with  what  you  really  have  done." 

"This  is  very  far  short  of  what  I  intended." 

"Of  course  it  is;  but  do  not  dwell  upon  that.  I  have  a 
great  stock  of  very  fine  intentions,  too,  but  I  shall  not  be  in 
the  least  discouraged  if  I  find  them  take  wing  and  leave 
me." 

"What  would  you  do  then?" 

"Raise  another  brood.  They  tell  us  that  if  one  seed  of 
every  million  of  acorns  should  grow  to  be  a  tree,  all  Europe 
would  be  a  dense  forest  within  a  century.  Take  heart, 
therefore,  about  scattered  projects ;  fully  their  share  of  them 
come  to  maturity.  Oh  dear!  what  a  dreary  sigh  you  gave! 
Don't  3^ou  imagine  yourself  very  unhappy?  " 

"If  I  did,  I'd  scarcely  come  to  you  for  sympathy,  cer- 
tainly," said  he,  with  a  half-bitter  smile. 

"You  are  quite  right  there;  not  but  that  I  could  really 
condole  with  some  of  what  I  opine  are  your  great  afflictions : 
for  instance,  I  could  bestow  very  honest  grief  on  that 
splint  that  your  charger  has  just  thrown  out  on  his  back 
tendon;  I  could  even  cry  over  the  threatened  blindness  of 
that  splendid  steeple-chaser;  but  I  'd  not  fret  about  the  way 
your  pelisse  was  braided,  nor  because  your  new  phaeton 
made  so  much  noise  with  the  axles." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Conyers,  "I  have  such  a  horse  to  show 
you!  He  is  in  the  village.  Might  I  drive  him  up  here? 
Would  you  allow  me  to  take  j'ou  back?" 

"Not  on  any  account,  sir!  I  have  grave  misgivings  about 
talking  to  you  so  long  here,  and  I  am  mainly  reconciled  by 
remembering  how  disagreeable  I  have  proved  myself." 

"How  I  wish  I  had  your  good  spirits!  " 

"Why  don't  you  rather  wish  for  my  fortunate  lot  in  life, 
—  so  secure  from  casualties,  so  surrounded  with  life's  com- 
forts, so  certain  to  attach  to  it  consideration  and  respect? 
Take  my  word  for  it,  Mr.  Conyers,  your  own  position  is 
not  utterly  wretched ;  it  is  rather  a  nice  thing  to  be  a  Lieu- 
tenant of  Hussars,  with  good  health,  a  good  fortune,  and  a 


CONYERS  MAKES  A  MORNING  CALL.  249 

fair  promise  of  mustachios.  There,  now,  enough  of  imper- 
tinence for  one  day.  I  have  a  deal  to  do,  and  you  '11  not 
help  me  to  do  it.  I  have  a  whole  tulip-bed  to  transplant, 
and  several  trees  to  remove,  and  a  new  walk  to  plan  through 
the  beech  shrubbery,  not  to  speak  of  a  change  of  domicile 
for  the  pigs,  —  if  such  creatures  can  be  spoken  of  in  your 
presence.  Only  think,  three  o'clock,  and  that  weary  Darby 
not  got  back  from  his  dinner!  has  it  ever  occurred  to  you 
to  wonder  at  the  interminable  time  people  can  devote  to  a 
meal  of  potatoes  ?  " 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  have  thought  upon  the  matter." 

"Pray  do  so,  then;  divide  the  matter,  as  a  German  would, 
into  all  its  '  Bearbeitungen,'  and  consider  it  ethnologically, 
esculently,  and  aesthetically,  and  you  '11  be  surprised  how 
puzzled  you  '11  be!  Meanwhile,  would  you  do  me  a  favor? 
—  I  mean  a  great  favor." 

"Of  course  I  will;  only  say  what  it  is." 

""Well;  but  I  'm  about  to  ask  more  than  you  suspect." 

"I  do  not  retract.     I  am  ready." 

"What  I  want,  then,  is  that  you  should  wheel  that  barrow- 
ful  of  mould  as  far  as  the  melon-bed.  I  'd  have  done  it 
myself  if  you  had  not  been  here." 

With  a  seriousness  which  cost  him  no  small  effort  to 
maintain,  Conyers  addressed  himself  at  once  to  the  task; 
and  she  walked  along  at  his  side,  with  a  rake  over  her 
shoulder,  talking  with  the  same  cool  unconcern  she  would 
have  bestowed  on  Darby. 

"I  have  often  told  Miss  Barrington,"  said  she,  "that  our 
rock  melons  were  finer  than  hers,  because  we  used  a  peculiar 
composite  earth,  into  which  ash  bark  and  soot  entered,  — 
what  you  are  wheeling  now,  in  fact,  however  hurtful  it  may 
be  to  your  feelings.  There!  upset  it  exactly  on  that  spot; 
and  now  let  me  see  if  you  are  equally  handy  with  a  spade." 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  my  wages  are  to  be  after  all 
this,"  said  he,  as  he  spread  the  mould  over  the  bed. 

"We  give  boys  about  eightpence  a  day." 

"Boys!  what  do  you  mean  by  boys?" 

"Everything  that  is  not  married  is  boy  in  Ireland;  so 
don't  be  angry,  or  I  '11  send  you  off.  Pick  up  those  stones, 
and  throw  these  dock-weeds  t-o  one  side." 


250  BARRLNGTON. 

"You'll  send  me  a  melon,  at  least,  of  my  own  raising, 
won't  you?" 

"I  won't  promise;  Heaven  knows  where  you'll  be  — 
where  I  '11  be,  by  that  time!  Would  //oii  like  to  pledge  your- 
self to  anything  on  the  day  the  ripe  fruit  shall  glow  between 
those  pale  leaves  ?  " 

"Perhaps  I  might,"  said  he,  stealing  a  half-tender  glance 
towards  her. 

"Well,  I  would  not,"  said  she,  looking  him  full  and  stead- 
fastly in  the  face. 

"Then  that  means  3'ou  never  eared  very  much  for  any 
one?" 

"If  I  remember  aright,  you  were  engaged  as  a  gardener, 
not  as  father  confessor.  Now,  you  are  really  not  very 
expert  at  the  former;  but  you'll  make  sad  work  of  the 
latter." 

"You  have  not  a  very  exalted  notion  of  my  tact.  Miss 
Dill." 

"I  don't  know,  — I'm  not  sure;  I  suspect  you  have  at 
least  what  the  French  call  '  good  dispositions.'  Y'ou  took 
to  your  wheelbarrow  very  nicel}^,  and  you  tried  to  dig  —  as 
little  like  a  gentleman  as  need  be." 

"AYell,  if  this  does  not  bate  Banagher,  my  name  is  n't 
Darby ! "  exclaimed  a  rough  voice,  and  a  hearty  laugh  fol- 
lowed his  words.  "By  my  conscience,  Miss  Polly,  it's 
only  yerself  could  do  it;  and  it's  truth  they  say  of  you, 
you  'd  get  fun  out  of  an  archdaycon!  " 

Conyers  flung  away  his  spade,  and  shook  the  mould  from 
his  boots  in  irritation. 

"Come,  don't  be  cross,"  said  she,  slipping  her  arm  within 
his,  and  leading  him  away;  "don't  spoil  a  very  pleasant 
little  adventure  by  ill  humor.  If  these  melons  come  to  good, 
they  shall  be  called  after  you.  Y'ou  know  that  a  Duke  of 
Montmartre  gave  his  name  to  a  gooseberry;  so  be  good, 
and,  like  him,  you  shall  be  immortal." 

"I  should  like  very  much  to  know  one  thing,"  said  he, 
thoughtfully. 

"And  what  may  that  be?" 

"I  'd  like  to  know,  —  are  you  ever  serious?" 

"Not  what  you  would  call  serious,  perhaps;  but  I  'm  very 


COXYERS  MAKES  A  MORNING   CALL. 


251 


much  in  earnest,  if  that  will  do.  That  delightful  Saxon 
habit  of  treating  all  trifles  with  solemnity  I  have  no  taste 
for.  I  'm  aware  it  constitutes  that  great  idol  of  English 
veneration,  Respectability;  but  we  have  not  got  that  sort  of 
thing  here.     Perhaps  the  climate  is  too  moist  for  it." 


"I'm  not  a  bit  surprised  that  the  Colonel  fell  in  love  with 
you,"  blurted  he  out,  with  a  frank  abruptness. 

"And  did  he,  — oh,  really  did  he?" 

"Is  the  news  so  very  agreeable,  then?" 

"Of  course  it  is.  I  'd  give  anything  for  such  a  conquest. 
There  's  no  glory  in  capturing  one  of  those  calf  elephants 


252  BARRINGTON. 

who  walk  into  the  suare  out  of  pure  stupidity ;  but  to  catch 
an  old  experienced  creature  who  has  been  hunted  scores  of 
times,  and  knows  every  scheme  and  artifice,  every  bait  and 
every  pitfall,  there  is  a  real  triumph  in  that." 

"Do  I  represent  one  of  the  calf  elephants,  then?" 

"I  cannot  think  so.  I  have  seen  no  evidence  of  your 
capture  —  not  to  add,  nor  any  presumption  of  my  own  —  to 
engage  in  such  a  pursuit.  My  dear  Mr.  Conyers,"  said 
she,  seriously,  "you  have  shown  so  much  real  kindness  to 
the  brother,  you  would  not,  I  am  certain,  detract  from  it  by 
one  word  which  could  offend  the  sister.  "VYe  have  been  the 
best  of  friends  up  to  this;  let  us  part  so." 

The  sudden  assumption  of  gravity  in  this  speech  seemed 
to  disconcert  him  so  much  that  he  made  no  answer,  but 
strolled  along  at  her  side,  thoughtful  and  silent. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  said  she,  at  last. 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  said  he,  "that  by  the  time  I  have 
reached  my  quarters,  and  begin  to  con  over  what  I  have 
accomplished  by  this  same  visit  of  mine,  I  '11  be  not  a  little 
puzzled  to  say  what  it  is." 

"Perhaps  I  can  help  you.  First  of  all,  tell  me  what  was 
your  object  in  coming." 

"Chiefly  to  talk  about  Tom." 

"Well,  we  have  done  so.  We  have  discussed  the  matter, 
and  are  fully  agreed  it  is  better  he  should  not  go  to  India, 
but  stay  at  home  here  and  follow  his  profession,  like  his 
father." 

"But  have  I  said  nothing  about  Hunter's  offer?" 

"Not  a  word;  what  is  it?  " 

"How  stupid  of  me;  what  could  I  have  been  thinking  of 
all  this  time?" 

"Heaven  knows;  but  what  was  the  offer  you  allude  to?" 

"It  was  this:  that  if  Tom  would  make  haste  and  get  his 
diploma  or  his  license,  or  whatever  it  is,  at  once,  and  col- 
lect all  sorts  of  testimonials  as  to  his  abilities  and  what 
not,  that  he  'd  take  him  out  with  him  and  get  him  an 
assistant-surgeoncy  in  a  regiment,  and  in  time,  perhaps,  a 
staff-appointment. " 

"I'm  not  very  certain  that  Tom  could  obtain  his  diploma 
at  once.     I  'm  quite  sure  he  could  n't  get  any  of  those  certifi- 


CONYERS   MAKES   A   MORNING   CALL.  253 

cates  you  speak  of.  First  of  all,  because  he  does  not  pos- 
sess these  same  abilities  you  meutiou,  nor,  if  he  did,  is 
there  any  to  vouch  for  them.  We  are  very  humble  people, 
Mr.  Conyers,  with  a  village  for  our  world ;  and  we  contem- 
plate a  far-away  country  —  India,  for  instance  —  pretty 
much  as  we  should  do  Mars  or  the  Pole-star." 

"As  to  that,  Bengal  is  more  come-at-able  than  the  Great 
Bear,"  said  he,  laughing. 

"For  you,  perhaps,  not  for  us.  There  is  nothing  more 
common  in  people's  mouths  than  go  to  New  Zealand  or  Swan 
River,  or  some  far-away  island  in  the  Pacific,  and  make 
your  fortune!  —  just  as  if  every  new  and  barbarous  land  was 
a  sort  of  Aladdin's  cave,  where  each  might  fill  his  pockets 
with  gems  and  come  out  rich  for  life.  But  reflect  a  little. 
First,  there  is  an  outfit;  next,  there  is  a  voyage;  thirdly, 
there  is  need  of  a  certain  subsistence  in  the  new  country 
before  plans  can  be  matured  to  render  it  profitable.  After 
all  these  come  a  host  of  requirements,  —  of  courage,  and 
energy,  and  patience,  and  ingenuity,  and  personal  strength, 
and  endurance,  not  to  speak  of  the  constitution  of  a 
horse,  and  some  have  said,  the  heartlessness  of  an  ogre. 
My  counsel  to  Tom  would  be,  get  the  '  Arabian  Nights  '  out 
of  your  head,  forget  the  great  Caliph  Conyers  and  all  his 
promises,  stay  where  you  are,  and  be  a  village  apothecary." 

These  words  were  uttered  in  a  very  quiet  and  matter-of- 
fact  way,  but  they  wounded  Conyers  more  than  the  accents 
of  passion.  He  was  angry  at  the  cold  realistic  turn  of  a 
mind  so  devoid  of  all  heroism ;  he  was  annoyed  at  the  half- 
implied  superiority  a  keener  view  of  life  than  his  own 
seemed  to  assert;  and  he  was  vexed  at  being  ti-eated  as 
a  well-meaning  but  very  inconsiderate  and  inexperienced 
young  gentleman. 

"Am  I  to  take  this  as  a  refusal,"  said  he,  stiffly;  "am  I 
to  tell  Colonel  Hunter  that  your  brother  does  not  accept  his 
offer?" 

"  If  it  depended  on  me,  —  yes ;  but  it  does  not.  I  '11  write 
to-night  and  tell  Tom  the  generous  project  that  awaits  him; 
he  shall  decide  for  himself." 

"I  know  Hunter  will  be  annoyed;  he '11  think  it  was 
through  some  bungling  mismanagement  of  mine  his  plan  haa 


254  BAKKINGTON. 

failed ;  be  '11  be  certain  to  say,  If  it  was  I  myself  bad  spokeu 
to  ber  —  " 

"Well,  tbere  's  no  bann  in  letting  bini  tbink  so,"  said  sbe, 
laugbing.  "Tell  bini  1  Ibiuk  biui  cbaiining,  tbat  1  bope 
be  '11  bave  a  deligbtful  voyage  and  a  most  prosperous  career 
after  it,  tbat  1  intend  to  read  tbe  Indian  columns  in  tbe 
newspaper  from  tbis  day  out,  and  will  always  picture  bim 
to  my  mind  as  seated  in  tbe  grandest  of  bowdabs  on  tbe  very 
tallest  of  elepbants,  bumming  '  Kule  Britannia  '  up  tbe  slopes 
of  tbe  Himalaya,  and  as  tbe  penny-a-liners  say,  extending 
tbe  blessings  of  tbe  Englisb  rule  in  India."  Sbe  gave  ber 
hand  to  bim,  made  a  little  salutation,  —  balf  bow,  balf 
courtesy, — and,  saying  "Good-bye,"  turned  back  into  tbe 
sbrubbery  and  left  bim. 

He  besitated, — almost  turned  to  follow  ber;  waited  a 
second  or  two  more,  and  tben,  witb  an  impatient  toss  of 
his  head,  walked  briskly  to  tbe  river-side  and  jumped  into 
his  boat.  It  was  a  sulky  face  tbat  be  wore,  and  a  sulky 
spirit  was  at  work  within  bim.  Tbere  is  no  greater  discon- 
tent than  tbat  of  bim  who  cannot  define  tbe  chagrin  tbat 
consumes  bim.  In  reality,  be  was  angry  with  himself,  but 
he  turned  the  whole  force  of  his  displeasure  upon  her. 

"I  suppose  she  is  clever.  I'm  no  judge  of  tbat  sort  of 
thing ;  but,  for  my  own  part,  I  'd  rather  see  her  more 
womanly,  more  delicate.  Sbe  has  not  a  bit  of  heart,  tbat 's 
quite  clear;  nor,  with  all  her  affectations,  does  she  pretend 
it."  These  were  his  first  meditations,  and  after  them  he  lit 
a  cigar  and  smoked  it.  The  weed  was  a  good  one;  the 
evening  was  beautifullj'  calm  and  soft,  and  tbe  river  scenery 
looked  its  ver}^  best.  He  tried  to  think  of  a  dozen  things : 
he  imagined,  for  instance,  what  a  picturesque  thing  a  boat- 
race  would  be  in  such  a  spot;  he  fancied  he  saw  a  swift 
gig  sweep  round  tbe  point  and  head  up  tbe  stream;  he 
caught  sight  of  a  little  open  in  tbe  trees  witb  a  background 
of  dark  rock,  and  be  thought  what  a  place  for  a  cottage. 
But  whether  it  was  tbe  "match"  or  the  "chdlet"  tbat  occu- 
pied bim,  Polly  Dill  was  a  figure  in  tbe  picture;  and  be 
muttered  unconsciously,  "How  pretty  sbe  is,  what  a  deal  of 
expression  those  gray-blue  eyes  possess !  She  's  as  active  as 
a  fawn,  and  to  the  full  as  graceful.     Fancy  her  an  Earl's 


CONYERS  MAKES  A  MORNING  CALL.  255 

daughter;  give  her  station  and  all  the  advantages  station 
will  bring  with  it,  —  what  a  girl  it  would  be  !  Not  that 
she'd  ever  have  a  heart;  I'm  certain  of  that.  She's  as 
worldly  —  as  worldly  as  —  "  The  exact  similitude  did  not 
occur ;  but  he  flung  the  end  of  his  cigar  into  the  river  instead, 
and  sat  brooding  mournfully  for  the  rest  of  the  way. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

DUBLIN   REVISITED. 

The  first  stage  of  the  Barringtons'  journey  was  Dublin. 
They  alighted  at  Reynolds's  Hotel,  in  Old  Dominick  Street, 
the  once  favorite  resort  of  country  celebrities.  The  house, 
it  is  true,  was  there,  but  Reynolds  had  long  left  for  a  land 
where  there  is  but  one  summons  and  one  reckoning;  even 
the  old  waiter,  Foster,  whom  people  believed  immortal,  was 
gone ;  and  save  some  cumbrous  old  pieces  of  furniture,  — 
barbarous  relics  of  bad  taste  in  mahogany,  —  nothing 
recalled  the  past.  The  bar,  where  once  on  a  time  the 
"Beaux"  and  "Bloods"  had  gathered  to  exchange  the  smart 
things  of  the  House  or  the  hunting-field,  was  now  a  dingy 
little  receptacle  for  umbrellas  and  overcoats,  with  a  rickety 
case  crammed  full  of  unacknowledged  and  unclaimed  let- 
ters, announcements  of  cattle  fairs,  and  bills  of  houses  to 
let.  Decay  and  neglect  were  on  everything,  and  the  grim 
little  waiter  who  ushered  them  upstairs  seemed  as  much 
astonished  at  their  coming  as  were  they  themselves  with  all 
they  saw.  It  was  not  for  some  time,  nor  without  searching 
inquiry,  that  Miss  Dinah  discovered  that  the  tide  of  popular 
favor  had  long  since  retired  from  this  quarter,  and  left  it  a 
mere  barren  strand,  wreck-strewn  and  deserted.  The  house 
where  formerly  the  great  squire  held  his  revels  had  now  fallen 
to  be  the  resort  of  the  traveller  by  canal-boat,  the  cattle 
salesman,  or  the  priest.  While  she  by  an  ingenious  cross- 
examination  was  eliciting  these  details,  Barrington  had 
taken  a  walk  through  the  city  to  revisit  old  scenes  and 
revive  old  memories.  One  needs  not  to  be  as  old  as  Peter 
Barrington  to  have  gone  through  this  process  and  experi- 
enced all  its  pain.  Unquestionably,  every  city  of  Europe 
has  made  within  such  a  period  as  five-and-thirty  or  forty 


DUBLIN  REVISITED.  257 

years  immense  strides  of  improvement.  "Wider  and  finer 
streets,  more  commodious  thoroughfares,  better  bridges, 
lighter  areas,  more  brilliant  shops,  strike  one  on  every 
hand ;  while  the  more  permanent  monuments  of  architecture 
are  more  cleanly,  more  orderly',  and  more  cared  for  than  of 
old.  We  see  these  things  with  astonishment  and  admira- 
tion at  first,  and  then  there  comes  a  pang  of  painful  regret, 
—  not  for  the  old  dark  alley  and  the  crooked  street,  or  the 
tumbling  arch  of  long  ago,  —  but  for  the  time  when  they 
were  there,  for  the  time  when  they  entered  into  our  daily 
life,  when  with  them  were  associated  friends  long  lost  sight 
of,  and  scenes  dimly  fading  away  from  memory.  It  is  for 
our  youth,  for  the  glorious  spring  and  elasticity  of  our 
once  high-hearted  spirit,  of  our  lives  so  free  of  care,  of 
our  days  undarkeued  by  a  serious  sorrow,  —  it  is  for  these 
we  mourn,  and  to  our  eyes  at  such  moments  the  spacious 
street  is  but  a  desert,  and  the  splendid  monument  but  a 
whitened  sepulchre! 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  had  a  sadder  walk  in  my  life, 
Dinah,"  said  Peter  Barrington,  with  a  weary  sigh.  '"Till  I 
got  into  the  courts  of  the  College,  I  never  chanced  upon  a 
spot  that  looked  as  I  had  left  it.  There,  indeed,  was  the 
quaint  old  square  as  of  old,  and  the  great  bell  —  bless  it  for 
its  kind  voice !  —  was  ringing  out  a  solemn  call  to  some- 
thing, that  shook  the  window-frames,  and  made  the  verj" 
air  tremulous ;  and  a  pale-faced  student  or  two  hurried  past, 
and  those  centurions  in  the  helmets, —  ancient  porters  or 
Senior  Fellows,  —  I  forget  which, —  stood  in  a  little  knot  to 
stare  at  me.  That,  indeed,  was  like  old  times,  Dinah,  and 
my  heart  grew  very  full  with  the  memory.  After  that  I 
strolled  down  to  the  Four  Courts.  I  knew  you  'd  laugh, 
Dinah.  I  knew  well  you  'd  say,  '  Was  there  nothing  going 
on  in  the  King's  Bench  or  the  Common  Pleas?  '  Well,  there 
was  only  a  Revenue  case,  my  dear,  but  it  was  interesting, 
very  interesting ;  and  there  was  my  old  friend  Harry  Bushe 
sitting  as  the  Judge.  He  saw  me,  and  sent  round  the  tipstaff 
to  have  me  come  up  and  sit  on  the  bench  with  him,  and  we 
had  many  a  pleasant  remembrance  of  old  times  —  as  the 
cross-examination  went  on  —  between  us,  and  I  promised  to 
dine  with  him  on  Saturday." 

VOL.   I.  — 17 


258  BARRINGTON. 

"And  on  Saturday  we  will  dine  at  Antwerp,  brother,  if  I 
know  anj'tbiug  of  myself." 

"Sure  enough,  sister,  I  forgot  all  about  it.  Well,  well, 
where  could  my  head  have  been  ?  " 

"Pretty  much  where  you  have  worn  it  of  late  years,  Peter 
Barriugton.     And  what  of  Withering?     Did  you  see  him?" 

"No,  Dinah,  he  was  attending  a  Privy  Council;  but  I  got 
his  address,  and  I  mean  to  go  over  to  see  him  after  dinner." 

"Please  to  bear  in  mind  that  you  are  not  to  form  any 
engagements,  Peter,  —  we  leave  this  to-morrow  evening  b}' 
the  packet,  —  if  it  was  the  Viceroy  himself  that  wanted  your 
company." 

"  Of  course,  dear,  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  It 
was  only  when  Harry  said,  '  You  '11  be  glad  to  meet  Casey 
and  Burrowes,  and  a  few  others  of  the  old  set,'  I  clean  for- 
got everything  of  the  present,  and  only  lived  in  the  long-past 
time,  when  life  really  was  a  very  jolly  thing." 

"How  did  you  find  your  friend  looking?" 

"Old,  Dinah,  very  old!  That  vile  wig  has,  perhaps, 
something  to  say  to  it;  and  being  a  judge,  too,  gives  a 
sternness  to  the  mouth  and  a  haughty  imperiousness  to  the 
brow.  It  spoils  Harry;  utterly  spoils  that  laughing  blue 
eye,  and  that  fine  rich  humor  that  used  to  play  about  his 
lips." 

"Which  did,  you  ought  to  say,  —  which  did  some  forty 
years  ago.  What  are  3'ou  laughing  at,  Peter?  What  is  it 
amuses  you  so  highly  ?  " 

"It  was  a  charge  of  O'Grady's,  that  Harry  told  me,  — a 
charge  to  one  of  those  petty  juries  that,  he  says,  never  will 
go  right,  do  what  j'ou  may.  The  case  was  a  young  student 
of  Trinit}',  tried  for  a  theft,  and  whose  defence  was  only 
by  witnesses  to  character,  and  O'Grady  said,  '  Gentlemen 
of  the  jury,  the  issue  before  you  is  easy  enough.  This  is  a 
young  gentleman  of  pleasing  manners  and  the  very  best 
connections,  who  stole  a  pair  of  silk  stockings,  and  you  will 
find  accordingly.'  And  what  d'ye  think,  Dinah?  They 
acquitted  him,  just  out  of  compliment  to  the  Bench." 

"  I  declare,  brother  Peter,  such  a  story  inspires  any  other 
sentiment  than  mirth  to  me." 

"  I  laughed  at  it  till  my  sides  ached,"  said  he,  wiping  his 


DUBLIN  EEVISITED.  259 

eyes.  "  I  took  a  peep  into  the  Chancery  Court  and  saw 
O'Connell,  who  has  plenty  of  business,  they  tell  me.  He 
was  in  some  altercation  with  the  Court.  Lord  Manners  was 
scowling  at  him,  as  if  he  hated  him.  I  hear  that  no  day 
passes  without  some  angry  passage  between  them." 

"  And  is  it  of  these  jangling,  quarrelsome,  irritable,  and 
insolent  men  your  ideal  of  agreeable  society  is  made  up, 
brother  Peter?" 

*'  Not  a  doubt  of  it,  Dinah.  All  these  displays  are  briefed 
to  them.  They  cannot  help  investing  in  their  client's  cause 
the  fervor  of  their  natures,  simply  because  they  are  human ; 
but  they  know  how  to  leave  all  the  acrimony  of  the  contest 
in  the  wig-box,  when  they  undress  and  come  back  to  their 
homes,  —  the  most  genial,  hearty,  and  frank  fellows  in  all 
the  world.  If  human  nature  were  all  bad,  sister,  he  who 
saw  it  closest  would  be,  I  own,  most  like  to  catch  its  corrup- 
tion, but  it  is  not  so,  far  from  it.  Every  day  and  every 
hour  reveals  something  to  make  a  man  right  proud  of  his 
fellow-men." 

Miss  Barrington  curtly  recalled  her  brother  from  these 
speculations  to  the  practical  details  of  their  journey,  re- 
minding him  of  much  that  he  had  to  consult  Withering 
upon,  and  many  questions  of  importance  to  put  to  him. 
Thoroughly  impressed  with  the  perils  of  a  journey  abroad, 
she  conjured  up  a  vast  array  of  imaginary  difficulties,  and 
demanded  special  instructions  how  each  of  them  was  to  be 
met.  Had  poor  Peter  been  —  what  he  certainly  was  not  — 
a  most  accomplished  casuist,  he  might  have  been  puzzled  by 
the  ingenious  complexity  of  some  of  those  embarrassments. 
As  it  was,  like  a  man  in  the  labyrinth,  too  much  bewildered 
to  attempt  escape,  he  sat  down  in  a  dogged  insensibility,  and 
actually  heard  nothing. 

''Are  you  minding  me,  Peter?"  asked  she,  fretfully,  at 
last;   "  are  you  paying  attention  to  what  I  am  saj'ing?  " 

"Of  course  I  am,  Dinah  dear;  I'm  listening  with  all 
ears." 

"  What  was  it,  then,  that  I  last  remarked?  What  was  the 
subject  to  which  I  asked  your  attention?" 

Thus  suddenly  called  on,  poor  Peter  started  and  rubbed 
his   forehead.      Vague   shadows   of    passport    people,    and 


260  BARRINGTON. 

custom-house  folk,  and  waiters,  aud  monej'-ebangers,  and 
brigands ;  insolent  postilions,  importunate  beggars,  cheating 
innkeepers,  and  insinuating  swindlers  were  passing  through 
his  iiead,  with  innumerable  incidents  of  the  road  ;  and,  try- 
ing to  catch  a  clew  at  random,  he  said,  "  It  was  to  ask  the 
Envoy,  her  Majesty's  Minister  at  Brussels,  about  a  washer- 
woman who  would  not  tear  off  my  shirt  buttons  —  eh, 
Dinah?  wasn't  that  it?" 

"  You  are  insupportable,  Peter  Barrington,"  said  she,  ris- 
ing in  anger.  "  I  believe  that  insensibility  like  this  is  not  to 
be  paralleled  !  "  and  she  left  the  room  in  wrath. 

Peter  looked  at  his  watch,  and  was  glad  to  see  it  was  past 
eight  o'clock,  and  about  the  hour  he  meant  for  his  visit  to 
Withering.  He  set  out  accordingly,  not,  indeed,  quite  satis- 
fied with  the  way  he  had  lately  acquitted  himself,  but  con- 
soled by  thinking  that  Dinah  rarely  went  back  of  a  morning 
on  the  dereliction  of  the  evening  before,  so  that  they  should 
meet  good  friends  as  ever  at  the  breakfast-table.  Withering 
was  at  home,  but  a  most  discreet-looking  butler  intimated 
that  he  had  dined  that  day  t^te-a-tete  with  a  gentleman,  and 
had  left  orders  not  to  be  disturbed  on  an}^  pretext.  "  Could 
you  not  at  least,  send  in  my  name?"  said  Barrington  :  *•! 
am  a  very  old  friend  of  your  master's,  whom  he  would  regret 
not  having  seen."  A  little  persuasion  aided  by  an  argument 
that  butlers  usually  succumb  to  succeeded,  aud  before  Peter 
believed  that  his  card  could  have  reached  its  destination,  his 
friend  was  warmly  shaking  him  by  both  hands,  as  he  hurried 
him  into  the  dinner-room. 

"  You  don't  know  what  an  opportune  visit  you  have  made 
me,  Barrington,"  said  he;  "  but  first,  to  present  you  to  my 
friend.  Captain  Stapylton  —  or  Major —  which  is  it?  " 

"Captain.  This  da}^  week,  the  'Gazette,'  perhaps,  may 
call  me  Major." 

"  Always  a  pleasure  to  me  to  meet  a  soldier,  sir,"  said 
Barrington;  "and  I  own  to  the  weakness  of  saying,  all  the 
greater  when  a  Dragoon.     My  own  boy  was  a  cavalryman." 

"  It  was  exactly  of  him  we  were  talking."  said  Witliering; 
"  my  friend  here  has  had  a  long  experience  of  India,  and 
has  frankly  told  me  much  I  was  totally  ignorant  of.  From 
one  thing  to  another  we  rambled  on  till  we  came  to  discuss 


DUBLIN   REVISITED.  261 

our  great  suit  with  the  Company,  and  Captain  Stapylton 
assures  me  that  we  have  never  taken  the  right  road  in  the 
case." 

"Nay,  I  could  hardly  have  had  such  presumption;  I 
merely  remarked,  that  without  knowing  India  and  its  habits, 
you  could  scarcely  be  prepared  to  encounter  the  sort  of 
testimony  that  would  be  opposed  to  you,  or  to  benefit  by 
what  might  tend  greatly  in  your  favor." 

"Just  so  —  continue,"  said  Withering,  who  looked  as 
though  he  had  got  an  admirable  witness  on  the  table. 

"I'm  astonished  to  hear  from  the  Attorney-General," 
resumed  Stapylton,  "that  in  a  case  of  such  magnitude  as 
this  you  have  never  thought  of  sending  out  an  efficient 
agent  to  India  to  collect  evidence,  sift  testimony,  and  make 
personal  inquiry  as  to  the  degree  of  credit  to  be  accorded  to 
many  of  the  witnesses.  This  inquisitorial  process  is  the 
very  first  step  in  every  Oriental  suit ;  you  start  at  once,  in 
fact,  by  sapping  all  the  enemy's  works,  —  countermining  him 
everywhere." 

"  Listen,  Barrington,  —  listen  to  this ;  it  is  all  new  to 
us." 

"  Everything  being  done  by  documentary  evidence,  there 
is  a  wide  field  for  all  the  subtlety  of  the  linguist;  and 
Hindostanee  has  complexities  enough  to  gratify  the  most 
inordinate  appetite  for  quibble.  A  learned  scholar  —  a 
Moonshee  of  erudition  —  is,  therefore,  the  very  first  requisite, 
great  care  being  taken  to  ascertain  that  he  is  not  in  the  pay 
of  the  enemy." 

"  What  rascals  !  "  muttered  Barrington. 
"Very  deep  —  very  astute  dogs,  certainly,  but  perhaps 
not  much  more  unprincipled  than  some  fellows  nearer 
home,"  continued  the  Captain,  sipping  his  wine;  "  the  great 
peculiarity  of  this  class  is,  that  while  employing  them  in  the 
most  palpably  knavish  manner,  and  obtaining  from  them 
services  bought  at  every  sacrifice  of  honor,  they  expect  all 
the  deference  due  to  the  most  umblemished  integrity." 

"I'd  see  them  —  I  won't  say  where— first,"  broke  out 
Barrington  ;  "  and  I  'd  see  my  lawsuit  after  them,  if  only  to 
be  won  by  their  intervention." 

"Remember,  sir,"  said  Stapylton,  calmly,  "that  such  are 


262  BARRINGTON. 

the  weapons  employed  against  you.  That  great  Companj'- 
does  not,  nor  can  it  afford  to,  despise  such  auxiliaries.  The 
East  has  its  customs,  and  the  natures  of  men  are  not  light 
things  to  be  smoothed  down  by  conventionalities.  Were 
you,  for  instance,  to  measure  a  testimony  at  Calcutta  by 
the  standard  of  Westminster  Hall,  you  would  probably 
do  a  great  and  grievous  injustice." 

"Just  so,"  said  Withering;  "you  are  quite  right  there, 
and  I  have  frequently  found  myself  posed  by  evidence  that 
I  felt  must  be  assailable.  Go  on,  and  tell  my  friend  what 
you  were  mentioning  to  me  before  he  came  in." 

"I  am  reluctant,  sir,"  said  Stapyltou,  modestly,  "to 
obtrude  upon  you,  in  a  matter  of  such  grand  importance 
as  this,  the  mere  gossip  of  a  mess-table,  but,  as  allusion 
has  been  made  to  it,  I  can  scarcely  refrain.  It  was  when 
serving  in  another  Presidency  an  officer  of  ours,  who  had 
been  long  in  Bengal,  one  night  entered  upon  the  question 
of  Colonel  Barrington's  claims.  He  quoted  the  words  of 
an  uncle  —  I  think  he  said  his  uncle  —  who  w'as  a  member 
of  the  Supreme  Council,  and  said,  '  Barrington  ought  to 
have  known  we  never  could  have  conceded  this  right  of 
sovereignty,  but  he  ought  also  to  have  known  that  we 
would  rather  have  given  ten  lacs  of  rupees  than  have  it 
litigated.' " 

"Have  you  that  gentleman's  name?"  asked  Barrington, 
eagerly. 

"  I  have ;  but  the  poor  fellow  is  no  more,  —  he  was  of  that 
fatal  expedition  to  Beloochistan  eight  years  ago." 

"You  know  our  case,  then,  and  what  we  claim?"  asked 
Barrington. 

"Just  as  every  man  who  has  served  in  India  knows  it, 
—  popularly,  vaguely.  I  know  that  Colonel  Barrington 
was,  as  the  adopted  son  of  a  Rajah,  invested  with  supreme 
power,  and  only  needed  the  ratification  of  Great  Britain 
to  establish  a  sovereignty  ;  and  I  have  heard  "  —  he  laid 
stress  on  the  word  "heard" — "that  if  it  had  not  been 
for  some  allegation  of  plotting  against  the  Company's 
government,  he  really  might  ultimately  have  obtained  that 
sanction." 

"Just  what  I  have  said  over  and  over  asain?  "  burst  iu 


DUBLIN  REVISITED.  263 

Barrington.  "It  was  the  worst  of  treachery  that  ruined  my 
poor  boy." 

"I  have  heard  that  also,"  said  Stapylton,  and  with  a 
degree  of  feeling  and  sympathy  that  made  the  old  man's 
heart  yearn  towards  him. 

"How  I  wish  you  had  known  him! "  said  he,  as  he  drew 
his  hand  over  his  eyes.  "And  do  you  know,  sir,"  said  he, 
warming,  "that  if  I  still  follow  up  this  suit,  devoting  to  it 
the  little  that  is  left  to  me  of  life  or  fortune,  that  I  do  so  less 
for  any  hope  of  gain  than  to  place  my  poor  boy  before  the 
world  with  his  honor  and  fame  unstained." 

"My  old  friend  does  himself  no  more  than  justice  there!  " 
cried  Withering. 

"A  noble  object,  —  may  you  have  all  success  in  it!  "  said 
Stapylton.  He  paused,  and  then,  in  a  tone  of  deeper  feel- 
ing, added:  "It  will,  perhaps,  seem  a  great  liberty,  the 
favor  I'm  about  to  ask;  but  remember  that,  as  a  brother 
soldier  with  your  son  I  have  some  slight  claim  to  approach 
you.  Will  you  allow  me  to  offer  you  such  knowledge  as  I 
possess  of  India,  to  aid  your  suit?  Will  you  associate  me, 
in  fact,  with  your  cause?  No  higher  one  could  there  be 
than  the  vindication  of  a  brave  man's  honor." 

"I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul!"  cried  the  old 
man,  giasping  his  hand.  "In  my  own  name,  and  in  that 
of  my  poor  dear  granddaughter,  I  thank  you." 

'"Oh,  then,  Colonel  Barrington  has  left  a  daughter?  I 
was  not  aware  of  that,"  said  Stapylton,  with  a  certain 
coldness. 

"And  a  daughter  who  knows  no  more  of  this  suit  than  of 
our  present  discussion  of  it,"  said  Withering. 

In  the  frankness  of  a  nature  never  happier  than  when 
indulging  its  own  candor,  Barrington  told  how  it  was  to  see 
and  fetch  back  with  him  the  same  granddaughter  he  had  left 
a  spot  he  had  not  quitted  for  years.  "  She  's  coming  back 
to  a  very  humble  home,  it  is  true;  but  if  you,  sir,"  said  he, 
addressing  Stapylton,  "will  not  despise  such  lowly  fare  as 
a  cottage  can  afford  you,  and  would  condescend  to  come  and 
see  us,  you  shall  have  the  welcome  that  is  due  to  one  who 
wishes  well  to  my  boy's  memory." 

"And  if  you  do,"  broke  in  Withering,  ''you'll  see  the 


264  BARRINGTON. 

prettiest  cottage  and  the  first  hostess  in  Europe;  and  heie  's 
to  her  health, — Miss  Dinah  Barrington!  " 

"I'm  not  going  to  refuse  that  toast,  though  I  have  just 
passed  the  decanter,"  said  Peter.  "Here  's  to  the  best  of 
sisters !  " 

"Miss  Barrington!"  said  Stapylton,  with  a  courteous 
bow;  and  he  drained  his  glass  to  the  bottom. 

"And  that  reminds  me  I  promised  to  be  back  to  tea  with 
her,"  said  Barrington;  and  renewing  with  all  warmth  his 
invitation  to  Stapylton,  and  cordially  taking  leave  of  his 
old  fi'iend,  he  left  the  house  and  hastened  to  his  hotel. 

"What  a  delightful  evening  I  have  passed,  Dinah!"  said 
he,  cheerfully,  as  he  entered. 

"Which  means  that  the  Attorney-General  gave  you  a 
grand  review  and  sham  fight  of  all  the  legal  achievements 
of  the  term ;  but  bear  in  mind,  brother,  there  is  no  profes- 
sional slang  so  odious  to  me  as  the  lawyer's,  and  I  posi- 
tively hate  a  joke  which  cost  six-and-eightpence,  or  even 
three-and-fourpeuce. " 

"Nothing  of  this  kind  was  there  at  all,  Dinah!  Wither- 
ing had  a  friend  with  him,  a  very  distinguished  soldier,  who 
had  seen  much  Indian  service,  and  entered  with  a  most  cor- 
dial warmth  into  poor  George's  case.  He  knew  it,  —  as 
all  India  knows  it,  by  report,  —  and  frankly  told  us  where 
our  chief  difficulties  lay,  and  the  important  things  we  were 
neglecting." 

"How  generous!  of  a  perfect  stranger  too!"  said  she, 
with  a  scarcely  detectable  tone  of  scorn. 

"Not  —  so  to  say  —  an  utter  stranger,  for  George  was 
known  to  him  by  reputation  and  character." 

"And  who  is,  I  suppose  I  am  to  say,  your  friend, 
Peter?" 

"Captain  or  Major  Stapylton,  of  the  Regent's  Hussars?" 

"Oh!  I  know  him,  — or,  rather,  I  know  of  him." 

"What  and  how,  Dinah?  I  am  very  curious  to  hear 
this." 

"Simply,  that  while  young  Conyers  was  at  the  cottage 
he  showed  me  a  letter  from  that  gentleman,  asking  him  in 
the  Admiral's   name,  to  Cobham,  and   containing,  at   the 


DUBLDs    REVISITED.  265 

same  time,  a  running  criticism  on  the  house  and  his  guests 
far  more  flippant  than  creditable." 

"Men  do  these  things  every  day,  Dinah,  and  there  is  no 
harm  in  it." 

"That  all  depends  upon  whom  the  man  is.  The  volatile 
gayety  of  a  high-spirited  nature,  eager  for  effect  and  fond 
of  a  sensation,  will  lead  to  many  an  indiscretion ;  but  very 
different  from  this  is  the  well-weighed  sarcasm  of  a  more 
serious  mind,  who  not  only  shots  his  gun  home,  but  takes 
time  to  sight  ere  he  fires  it.  I  hear  that  Captain  Stapylton 
is  a  grand,  cold,  thoughtful  man,  of  five  or  six-and-thirty. 
Is  that  so  ?  " 

"Perhaps  he  may  be.  He  's  a  splendid  fellow  to  look  at, 
and  all  the  soldier.  But  you  shall  see  for  yourself,  and  I  '11 
warrant  you'll  not  harbor  a  prejudice  against  him." 

"Which  means,  you  have  asked  him  on  a  visit,  brother 
Peter?" 

"Scarcely  fair  to  call  it  on  a  visit,  Dinah,"  blundered  he 
out,  in  confusion;  '"but  I  have  said  with  what  pleasure  we 
should  see  him  under  our  roof  when  we  returned." 

"I  solemnly  declare  my  belief,  that  if  you  went  to  a  cattle- 
show  you  'd  invite  every  one  you  met  there,  from  the  squire 
to  the  pig-jobber,  never  thinking  the  while  that  nothing  is 
so  valueless  as  indiscriminate  hospitality,  even  if  it  were 
not  costly.  Nobody  thanks  you,  —  no  one  is  grateful  for 
it."' 

"And  who  wants  them  to  be  grateful,  Dinah?  The 
pleasure  is  in  the  giving,  not  in  receiving.  You  see  your 
friends  with  their  holiday  faces  on,  when  they  sit  round  the 
table.  The  slowest  and  dreariest  of  them  tries  to  look 
cheery;  and  the  stupid  dog  who  has  never  a  jest  in  him  has 
at  least  a  ready  laugh  for  the  wit  of  his  neighbor." 

"Does  it  not  spoil  some  of  your  zest  for  this  pleasantry 
to  think  how  it  is  paid  for,  brother?" 

"It  might,  perhaps,  if  I  were  to  think  of  it;  but,  thank 
Heaven!  it's  about  one  of  the  last  things  would  come  into 
my  head.  My  dear  sister,  there  's  no  use  in  always  treat- 
ing human  nature  as  if  it  was  sick,  for  if  you  do,  it  will  end 
by  being  hypochondriac !  " 

"I  protest,  brother  Peter,  I  don't  know  where  you  meet  all 


266  BARRINGTON. 

the  good  and  excellent  people  you  rave  about,  and  I  feel  it 
very  churlish  of  you  that  you  never  preseut  any  of  them 
to  VIC  !  "  And  so  saying,  she  gathered  her  knitting  mate- 
rials hastily  together,  and  reminding  him  that  it  was  past 
eleven  o'clock,  she  uttered  a  hui-ried  good-night,  and 
departed. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A    VERY    SAD    GOOD-BYE. 

CoNYERS  sat  alone  in  his  barrack-room,  very  sad  and  dis- 
pirited. Hunter  bad  left  that  same  morning,  and  the  young 
soldier  felt  utterly  friendless.  He  bad  obtained  some  weeks' 
leave  of  absence,  and  already  two  days  of  the  leave  bad  gone 
over,  and  be  bad  not  energy  to  set  out  if  be  bad  even  a 
tbougbt  as  to  tbe  wbitber.  A  variety  of  plans  passed 
vaguely  tbrougb  bis  bead.  He  would  go  down  to  Ports- 
moutb  and  see  Hunter  off;  or  be  would  nestle  down  in  tbe 
little  village  of  Inistioge  and  dream  away  tbe  days  in  quiet 
f orgetf ulness ;  or  be  would  go  over  to  Paris,  which  he  bad 
never  seen,  and  try  whether  tbe  gay  dissipations  of  that 
brilliant  city  might  not  distract  and  amuse  him.  Tbe  mail 
from  India  bad  arrived  and  brought  no  letter  from  bis 
father,  and  this,  too,  rendered  him  irritable  and  unhappy. 
Not  that  his  father  was  a  good  correspondent ;  be  wrote  but 
rarely,  and  always  like  one  who  snatched  a  hurried  moment 
to  catch  a  post.  Still,  if  this  were  a  case  of  emergency, 
any  great  or  critical  event  in  bis  life,  he  was  sure  his  father 
would  have  informed  him ;  and  thus  was  it  that  he  sat  bal- 
ancing doubt  against  doubt,  and  setting  probability  against 
probability,  till  bis  very  bead  grew  addled  with  tbe  labor  of 
speculation. 

It  was  already  late ;  all  the  usual  sounds  of  barrack  life 
bad  subsided,  and  although  on  the  opposite  side  of  tbe 
square  tbe  brilliant  lights  of  tbe  mess-room  windows  showed 
where  the  convivial  spirits  of  tbe  regiment  were  assembled, 
all  around  was  silent  and  still.  Suddenly  there  came  a  dull 
heavy  knock  to  the  door,  quickly  followed  by  two  or  three 
others. 

Not  caring  to  admit  a  visitor,  whom,  of  course,  be  sur- 
mised would  be  some  young  brother-officer  full  of  the  plans 


268  BARRLNGTON. 

and  projects  of  the  mess,  be  made  no  reply  to  t"he  summons, 
nor  gave  any  token  of  bis  presence.  Tbe  sounds,  however, 
were  redoubled,  and  with  an  energy  that  seemed  to  vouch 
for  perseverance;  and  Conyers,  partly  in  anger,  and  partly 
in  curiosity,  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  It  was  not  till 
after  a  minute  or  two  that  he  was  able  to  recognize  the  figure 
before  him.  It  was  Tom  Dill,  but  without  a  hat  or  neck- 
cloth, bis  hair  dishevelled,  his  face  colorless,  and  his  clothes 
torn,  while  from  a  recent  wound  in  one  band  tbe  blood  flowed 
fast,  and  dropped  on  tbe  floor.  The  whole  air  and  appear- 
ance of  tbe  young  fellow  so  resembled  drunkenness  that 
Conyers  turned  a  stern  stare  upon  him  as  he  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  and  in  a  voice  of  severity  said,  "By 
what  presumption,  sir,  do  you  dare  to  present  yourself  in 
this  state  before  me?" 

"You  think  I'm  drunk,  sir,  but  I  am  not,"  said  be, 
with  a  faltering  accent  and  a  look  of  almost  imploring 
misery. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  state,  then?  What  dis- 
graceful row  have  you  been  in  ?  " 

"None,  sir.  I  have  cut  my  hand  with  the  glass  on  the 
barrack-wall,  and  torn  my  trousers  too;  but  it's  no  matter, 
I  '11  not  want  them  long." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  all  this?     Explain  yourself." 

"May  I  sit  down,  sir,  for  I  feel  very  weak?"  but  before 
the  permission  could  be  granted,  his  knees  tottered,  and  be 
fell  in  a  faint  on  the  floor.  Conyers  knelt  down  beside  him, 
bathed  his  temples  with  water,  and  as  soon  as  signs  of  ani- 
mation returned,  took  him  up  in  his  arms  and  laid  him  at 
full  length  on  a  sofa. 

In  tbe  vacant,  meaningless  glance  of  the  poor  fellow  as 
he  looked  first  around  him,  Conyers  could  mark  how  he  was 
struggling  to  find  out  where  be  was. 

"You  are  with  me,  Tom,  —  with  your  friend  Conyers," 
said  he,  holding  the  cold  clammy  hand  between  his  own. 

••  Thank  you,  sir.  It  is  very  good  of  you.  I  do  not 
deserve  it,"  said  he,  in  a  faint  whisper. 

"My  poor  boy,  you  mustn't  say  that;  I  am  your  friend- 
I  told  you  already  I  would  be  so. " 

"But  you  '11  not  be  my  friend  when  I  tell  you  —  when  1 


A  VERY   SAD   GOOD-BYE.  269 

tell  you  —  all ;  "  and  as  the  last  word  dropped,  he  covered 
his  face  with  both  his  hands,  and  burst  into  a  heavy  passion 
of  tears. 

"Come,  come,  Tom,  this  is  not  manly;  bear  up  bravelj-, 
bear  up  with  courage,  man.  You  used  to  say  you  had  plenty 
of  pluck  if  it  were  to  be  tried." 

'•  So  I  thought  I  had,  sir,  but  it  has  all  left  me;  "  and  he 
sobbed  as  if  his  heart  was  breaking.  "But  I  believe  I 
could  bear  anything  but  this,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  shaken 
by  convulsive  throes.  "It  is  the  disgrace, — that 's  what 
unmans  me." 

"Take  a  glass  of  wine,  collect  yourself,  and  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"No,  sir.  No  wine,  thank  you;  give  me  a  glass  of 
water.  There,  I  am  better  now;  my  brain  is  not  so  hot. 
You  are  very  good  to  me,  Mr.  Conyers,  but  it 's  the  last  time 
I'll  ever  ask  it,  —  the  vei-y  last  time,  sir;  but  I  '11  remem- 
ber it  all  my  life." 

"If  you  give  way  in  this  fashion,  Tom,  I  '11  not  think  you 
the  stout-hearted  fellow  I  once  did." 

"No,  sir,  nor  am  I.  I  '11  never  be  the  same  again.  I  feel 
it  here.  I  feel  as  if  something  gave,  something  broke." 
And  he  laid  his  hand  over  his  heart  and  sighed  heavily. 

"TVell,  take  your  own  time  about  it,  Tom,  and  let  me 
hear  if  I  cannot  be  of  use  to  you." 

"No,  sir,  not  now.  Neither  you  nor  any  one  else  can 
help  me  now.  It 's  all  over,  Mr.  Conyers,  —  it 's  all 
finished." 

"What  is  over,  — what  is  finished?" 

"And  so,  as  I  thought  it  would  n't  do  for  one  like  me  to 
be  seen  speaking  to  you  before  people,  I  stole  away  and 
climbed  over  the  barrack- wall.  I  cut  my  hand  on  the  glass, 
too,  but  it 's  nothing.  And  here  I  am,  and  here  's  the  money 
you  gave  me ;  I've  no  need  of  it  now."  And  as  he  laid  some 
crumpled  bank-notes  on  the  table,  his  overcharged  heart 
again  betrayed  him,  and  he  burst  into  tears.  "Yes,  sir, 
that 's  what  you  gave  me  for  the  College,  but  I  was 
rejected." 

"Rejected,  Tom!  How  was  that?  Be  calm,  my  poor 
fellow,  and  tell  me  all  about  it  quietly." 


270  BAKRIXGTON. 

"I  '11  tr}',  sir,  I  will,  indeed ;  and  I  '11  tell  you  nothing  but 
the  truth,  that  you  may  depend  upon."  He  took  a  great 
drink  of  water,  and  went  on.  "If  there  was  one  man  I  was 
afraid  of  in  the  world,  it  was  Surgeon  Asken,  of  Mercer's 
Hospital.  I  used  to  be  a  dresser  there,  and  he  was  always 
angry  with  me,  exposing  me  before  the  other  students,  and 
ridiculing  me,  so  that  if  anything  was  done  badly  in  the 
wards,  he  'd  say,  '  This  is  some  of  Master  Dill's  work,  is  n't 
it?  '  Well,  sir,  would  j'ou  believe  it,  on  the  morning  I  went 
up  for  my  examination,  Dr.  Coles  takes  ill,  and  Surgeon 
Asken  is  called  on  to  replace  him.  I  did  n't  know  it  till  I 
was  sent  for  to  go  in,  and  my  head  went  round,  and  I 
couldn't  see,  and  a  cold  sweat  came  over  me,  and  I  was  so 
confused  that  when  I  got  into  the  room  I  went  and  sat  down 
beside  the  examiners,  and  never  knew  what  they  were 
laughing  at. 

"  '  I  have  no  doubt,  Mr.  Dill,  you'll  occupy  one  of  these 
places  at  some  future  day,'  says  Dr.  Willes,  'but  for  the 
present  your  seat  is  yonder.'  I  don't  remember  much  more 
after  that,  till  Mr.  Porter  said,  '  Don't  be  so  nervous,  Mr. 
Dill;  collect  yourself;  I  am  persuaded  you  know  what  I  am 
asking  you,  if  you  will  not  be  flurried.'  And  all  I  could  say 
was,  '  God  bless  you  for  that  speech,  no  matter  how  it  goes 
with  me; '  and  they  all  laughed  out. 

"It  was  Asken 's  turn  now,  and  he  began.  '  You  are 
destined  for  the  navy,  I  understand,  sir?  ' 

"  '  No,  sir;  for  the  army,'  said  I. 

"  '  From  what  we  have  seen  to-day,  you  '11  prove  an  orna- 
ment to  either  service.  Meanwhile,  sir,  it  will  be  satisfac- 
tory to  the  court  to  have  your  opinion  on  gun-shot  wounds. 
Describe  to  us  the  case  of  a  man  laboring  under  the  worst 
form  of  concussion  of  the  brain,  and  by  what  indications 
you  would  distinguish  it  from  fracture  of  the  base  of  the 
skull,  and  what  circumstances  might  occur  to  render  the  dis- 
tinction more  difficult,  and  what  impossible?'  That  was 
his  question,  and  if  I  was  to  live  a  hundred  years  I  '11  never 
forget  a  word  in  it, — it's  written  on  my  heart,  I  believe, 
for  life. 

"  '  Go  on,  sir,'  said  he,  '  the  court  is  waiting  for  you.' 

"  '  Take  the  case  of  concussion  first,'  said  Dr.  "Willes. 


A  VERY  SAD  GOOD-BYE.  271 

" '  I  hope  I  may  be  permitted  to  conduct  my  own  examina- 
tion in  my  own  manner,'  said  Asken. 

"That  finished  me,  and  I  gave  a  groan  that  set  them  all 
laughing  again. 

"  '  Well,  sir,  I'm  waiting,'  said  Asken.  '  You  can  have 
no  difficulty  to  describe  concussion,  if  you  only  give  us  your 
present  sensations.' 

"  '  That's  as  true  as  if  you  swore  it,'  said  I.  '  I'm  just 
as  if  I  had  a  fall  on  the  crown  of  my  head.  There 's  a 
haze  over  my  eyes,  and  a  ringing  of  bells  in  my  ears,  and 
a  feeling  as  if  my  brain  was  too  big.' 

'"Take  my  word  for  it,  Mr.  Dill,'  said  he,  sneeringly, 
♦  the  latter  is  a  purely  deceptive  sensation ;  the  fault  lies  in 
the  opposite  direction.  Let  us,  however,  take  something 
more  simple ; '  and  with  that  he  described  a  splinter  wound 
of  the  scalp,  with  the  whole  integuments  torn  in  fragments, 
and  gunpowder  and  sticks  and  sand  all  mixed  up  with  the 
flap  that  hung  down  over  the  patient's  face.  '  Now,'  said 
he,  after  ten  minutes'  detail  of  this,  — '  now,'  said  he,  '  when 
you  found  the  man  in  this  case,  you  'd  take  out  your  scalpel, 
perhaps,  and  neatly  cut  away  all  these  bruised  and  torn 
integuments? ' 

"  '  I  would,  sir,'  cried  I,  eagerly. 

'"  I  knew  it,'  said  he,  with  a  cry  of  triumph,  — *  I  knew 
it.     I ' ve  no  more  to  ask  you.     You  may  retire. ' 

"  I  got  up  to  leave  the  room,  but  a  sudden  flash  went 
through  me,  and  I  said  out  boldly,  — 

"  '  Am  I  passed  ?  Tell  me  at  once.  Put  me  out  of  pain, 
for  I  can't  bear  any  more  ! ' 

"'If  you'll  retire  for  a  few  minutes,*  said  the  Presi- 
dent— 

"  '  My  heart  will  break,  sir,'  said  I,  '  if  I  'm  to  be  in  sus- 
pense any  more.     Tell  me  the  worst  at  once.' 

"And  I  suppose  they  did  tell  me,  for  I  knew  no  more  till 
I  found  myself  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  with  wet  cloths 
on  my  head,  and  the  money  you  see  there  in  the  palm  of  my 
hand.  That  told  everything.  Many  were  very  kind  to  me, 
telling  how  it  happened  to  this  and  to  that  man,  the  first 
time;  and  that  Asken  was  thought  very  unfair,  and  so  on; 
but  I  just  washed  my  face  with  cold  water,  and  put  on  my 


2  i  2  BARRINGTON. 

hat  and  went  away  home,  that  is,  to  where  I  lodged,  and  T 
wrote  to  Polly  juat  this  one  line :  '  Rejected ;  I  'm  not  coming 
back.'  And  then  I  shut  the  shutters  and  went  to  bed  in  my 
clothes  as  I  was,  and  I  slept  sixteen  hours  without  ever 
waking.  When  I  awoke,  I  was  all  right.  I  could  n't  remem- 
ber everything  that  happened  for  some  time,  but  I  knew  it 
all  at  last,  and  so  I  went  off  straight  to  the  Royal  Barracks 
and  'listed." 

"Enlisted?  — enlisted?" 

"Yes,  sir,  in  the  Fort^'-ninth  Regiment  of  Foot,  now  in 
India,  and  sending  off  drafts  from  Cork  to  join  them  on 
Tuesday.  It  was  out  of  the  depot  at  the  bridge  I  made  my 
escape  to-night  to  come  and  see  you  once  more,  and  to  give 
you  this  with  my  hearty  blessing,  for  you  were  the  only  one 
ever  stood  to  me  in  the  world,  —  the  only  one  that  let  me 
think  for  a  moment  I  could  be  a  gentleman ! " 

"Come,  come,  this  is  all  wrong  and  hasty  and  passion- 
ate, Tom.  You  have  no  right  to  repay  your  family  in  this 
sort;  this  is  not  the  way  to  treat  that  fine-hearted  girl  who 
has  done  so  much  for  j^ou ;  this  is  but  an  outbreak  of  angry 
selfishness." 

"These  are  hard  words,  sir,  very  hard  words,  and  I  wish 
you  had  not  said  them." 

"Hard  or  not,  you  deserve  them;  and  it  is  their  justice 
that  wounds  you." 

"I  won't  say  that  it  is  not,  sir.  But  it  isn't  justice  I 'm 
asking  for,  but  forgiveness.  Just  one  word  out  of  your 
mouth  to  say,  '  I  'm  sorry  for  you,  Tom; '  or,  '  I  wish  you 
well.'" 

"So  I  do,  my  poor  fellow,  with  all  my  heart,"  cried  Con- 
yers,  grasping  his  hand  and  pressing  it  cordially,  "and  I  '11 
get  j^ou  out  of  this  scrape,  cost  what  it  may." 

"If  you  mean,  sir,  that  I  am  to  get  my  discharge,  it's 
better  to  tell  the  truth  at  once.  I  would  n't  take  it.  No, 
sir,  I  '11  stand  by  what  I  've  done.  I  see  I  never  could  be  a 
doctor,  and  I  have  my  doubts,  too,  if  I  ever  could  be  a  gen- 
tleman ;  but  there  *s  something  tells  me  I  could  be  a  soldier, 
and  I  '11  try." 

Conj-ers  turned  from  him  with  an  impatient  gesture,  and 
walked  the  room  in  moody  silence. 


A  VERY  SAD  GOOD-BYE.  273 

"I  know  well  enough,  sir,"  continued  Tom,  "what  every 
one  will  say;  perhaps  you  yourself  are  thinking  it  this  very 
minute:  '  It 's  all  out  of  his  love  of  low  company  he  's  gone 
and  done  this;  he  's  more  at  home  with  those  poor  ignorant 
boys  there  than  he  would  be  with  men  of  education  and  good 
manners. '  Perhaps  it 's  true,  perhaps  it  is  n't !  But  there  's 
one  thing  certain,  which  is,  that  I  '11  never  try  again  to  be 
anything  that  I  feel  is  clean  above  me,  and  I  '11  not  ask  the 
world  to  give  me  credit  for  what  I  have  not  the  least  preten- 
sion to." 

"Have  you  reflected,"  said  Conyers,  slowly,  "that  if  you 
reject  my  assistance  now,  it  will  be  too  late  to  ask  for  it  a 
few  weeks,  or  even  a  few  days  hence  ?  " 

"I  have  thought  of  all  that,  sir.  I  '11  never  trouble  you 
about  myself  again." 

"My  dear  Tom,"  said  Conyers,  as  he  laid  his  arm  on  the 
other's  shoulder,  "just  think  for  one  moment  of  all  the 
misery  this  step  will  cause  your  sister,  —  that  kind,  true- 
hearted  sister,  who  has  behaved  so  nobly  by  you." 

"I  have  thought  of  that,  too,  sir;  and  in  my  heart  I 
believe,  though  she  '11  fret  herself  at  first  greatly,  it  will  all 
tin-n  out  best  in  the  end.  What  could  I  ever  be  but  a  dis- 
grace to  her?  Who  'd  ever  think  the  same  of  Polly  after 
seeing  me?  Don't  I  bring  her  down  in  spite  of  herself; 
and  is  n't  it  a  hard  trial  for  her  to  be  a  lady  when  I  am  in 
the  same  room  with  her?  No,  sir,  I'll  not  go  back;  and 
though  I  haven't  much  hope  in  me,  I  feel  I'm  doing  right." 

"I  know  well,"  said  Conyers,  pettishly,  "that  your  sister 
will  throw  the  whole  blame  on  me.  She  '11  say,  naturally 
enough,  You  could  have  obtained  his  discharge,  —  you 
should  have  insisted  on  his  leaving." 

"That's  what  you  could  not,  sir,"  said  Tom,  sturdily. 
"It's  a  poor  heart  hasn't  some  pride  in  it;  and  I  would 
not  go  back  and  meet  my  father,  after  my  disgrace,  if  it  was 
to  cost  me  my  right  hand,  —  so  don't  say  another  word  about 
it.  Good-bye,  sir,  and  my  blessing  go  with  you  wherever 
you  are.     I  '11  never  forget  how  you  stood  to  me." 

"That  money  there  is  yours.  Dill,"  said  Conyers,  half 
haughtily.     "You   may  refuse   my  advice   and   reject   my 

VOL.    I. —  18 


274  BARRINGTON. 

counsel,  but  I  scarcely  suppose  you  '11  ask  ine  to  take  Lack 
what  I  once  have  given." 

Torn  tried  to  speak,  but  he  faltered  and  moved  from  one 
foot  to  the  other,  in  an  embarrassed  and  hesitating  way. 
He  wanted  to  say  how  the  sum  originally  intended  for  one 
object  could  not  honestly  be  claimed  for  another ;  he  wanted 
to  say,  also,  that  he  had  no  longer  the  need  of  so  much 
money,  and  that  the  only  obligation  he  liked  to  submit  to 
was  gratitude  for  the  past ;  but  a  consciousness  that  in  at- 
tempting to  say  these  things  some  unhappy  word,  some  ill- 
advised  or  ungracious  expression  might  escape  him,  stopped 
him,  and  he  was  silent. 

"You  do  not  wish  that  we  should  part  coldly,  Tom?" 

"  No,  sir,  —  oh,  no !  "  cried  he,  eagerly. 

"  Then  let  not  that  paltry  gift  stand  in  the  way  of  our 
esteem.  Now,  another  thing.  Will  you  write  to  me  ?  Will 
you  tell  me  how  the  world  fares  with  you,  and  honestly  de- 
clare whether  the  step  you  have  taken  to-day  brings  with  it 
regret  or  satisfaction  ?  " 

"I'm  not  over-much  of  a  letter- writer,"  said  he,  falter- 
ingly,  "but  I'll  try.  I  must  be  going,  Mr.  Conyers,"  said 
he,  after  a  moment's  silence  ;  "  I  must  get  back  before  I'm 
missed." 

"  Not  as  you  came,  Tom,  however.  I'll  pass  you  out  of 
the  barrack-gate." 

As  they  w^alked  along  side  by  side,  neither  spoke  till  they 
came  close  to  the  gate ;  then  Conyers  halted  and  said,  "  Can 
you  think  of  nothing  I  can  do  for  you,  or  is  there  nothing 
you  would  leave  to  my  charge  after  3'ou  have  gone  ?  " 

"No,  sir,  nothing."  He  paused,  and  then,  as  if  with  a 
struggle,  said,  "  Except  you  'd  write  one  line  to  my  sister 
Polly,  to  tell  her  that  I  went  away  in  good  heart,  that  I 
did  n't  give  in  one  bit,  and  that  if  it  was  n't  for  thinking  that 
maybe  I'd  never  see  her  again  —  "  He  faltered,  his  voice 
grew  thick,  he  tried  to  cough  down  the  rising  emotion,  but 
the  feeling  overcame  him,  and  he  burst  out  into  tears. 
Ashamed  at  the  weakness  he  was  endeavoring  to  deny,  he 
sprang  through  the  gate  and  disappeared. 

Conyers  slowly  returned  to  his  quarters,  very  thoughtful 
and  very  sad. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  COXVEXT  OX  THE  MEUSE. 

"While  poor  Tom  Dill,  just  entering  upon  life,  went  forth  in 
gloom  and  disappointment  to  his  first  venture,  old  Peter 
Barrington,  broken  by  years  and  many  a  sorrow,  set  out  on 
his  journey  with  a  high  heart  and  a  spirit  well  disposed  to 
see  everything  in  its  best  light  and  be  pleased  with  all 
around  him.  Much  of  this  is,  doubtless,  matter  of  temper- 
ament ;  but  I  suspect,  too,  that  all  of  us  have  more  in  our 
power  in  this  wa}'  than  we  practise.  Barrington  had  pos- 
sibly less  merit  than  his  neiglibors,  for  nature  had  given  him 
one  of  those  happy  dispositions  upon  which  the  passing  vex- 
ations of  life  produce  scarcely  any  other  effect  than  a  stimu- 
lus to  humor,  or  a  tendency  to  make  them  the  matter  of 
amusing  memory. 

He  had  lived,  besides,  so  long  estranged  from  the  world, 
that  life  had  for  him  all  the  interests  of  a  drama,  and  he 
could  no  more  have  felt  angry  with  the  obtrusive  waiter  or 
the  roguish  landlord  than  he  would  with  their  fictitious  rep- 
resentatives on  the  stage.  They  were,  in  his  eyes,  parts 
admirably  played,  and  no  more ;  he  watched  them  with  a 
sense  of  humorous  curiosity,  and  laughed  heartily  at  suc- 
cesses of  which  he  was  himself  the  victim.  Miss  Barrington 
was  no  disciple  of  this  school ;  rogues  to  her  were  simpl}' 
rogues,  and  no  histrionic  sympathies  dulled  the  vexation 
they  gave  her.  The  world,  out  of  which  she  had  lived 
so  long,  had,  to  her  thinking,  far  from  improved  in  the 
mean  while.  People  were  less  deferential,  less  courteous 
than  of  old.  There  was  an  indecent  haste  and  bustle  about 
everything,  and  a  selfish  disregard  of  one's  neighbor  was  the 
marked  feature  of  all  travel.  ■  While  her  brother  repaid  him- 


276  BARRINGTON. 

self  for  many  an  inconvenience  by  thinking  over  some 
strange  caprice,  or  some  curious  inconsistency  iu  human 
nature,  —  texts  for  amusing  afterthought.  —  she  only  winced 
under  the  infliction,  and  chafed  at  every  instance  of  cheating 
or  impertinence  that  befell  them. 

The  wonderful  things  she  saw,  the  splendid  galleries  rich 
in  art,  the  gorgeous  palaces,  the  grand  old  cathedrals,  were 
all  marred  to  her  by  the  presence  of  the  loquacious  lackey 
whose  glib  tongue  had  to  be  retained  at  the  salary  of  the 
"  vicar  of  our  parish,"  and  who  never  descanted  on  a  saint's 
tibia  without  costing  the  price  of  a  dinner;  so  that  old  Peter 
at  last  said  to  himself,  "  I  believe  my  sister  Dinah  would  n't 
enjoy  the  garden  of  Eden  if  Adam  had  to  go  about  and  show 
her  its  beauties." 

The  first  moment  of  real  enjoyment  of  her  tour  was  on 
that  morning  when  the}"  left  Namur  to  drive  to  the  Convent 
of  Bramaigue,  about  three  miles  off,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Meuse.  A  lovelier  day  never  shone  upon  a  lovelier  scene. 
The  river,  one  side  guarded  by  lofty  cliffs,  was  on  the  other 
bounded  by  a  succession  of  rich  meadows,  dotted  with 
picturesque  homesteads  half  hidden  in  trees.  Little  patches 
of  cultivation,  labored  to  the  perfection  of  a  garden,  varied 
the  scene,  and  beautiful  cattle  lay  lazily  under  the  giant 
trees,  solemn  voluptuaries  of  the  peaceful  happiness  of  their 
lot. 

Hitherto  Miss  Dinah  had  stoutly  denied  that  anything 
they  had  seen  could  compare  with  their  own  "vale  and 
winding  river,"  but  now  she  frankly  owned  that  the  stream 
was  wider,  the  cliffs  higher,  the  trees  taller  and  better 
grown,  while  the  variety  of  tint  in  the  foliage  far  exceeded 
all  she  had  any  notion  of;  but  above  all  these  were  the 
evidences  of  abundance,  the  irresistible  charm  that  gives 
the  poetry  to  peasant  life ;  and  the  picturesque  cottage, 
the  costume,  the  well-stored  granary,  bespeak  the  condition 
with  which  we  associate  our  ideas  of  rural  happiness.  The 
giant  oxen  as  they  marched  proudly  to  their  toil,  the  gay- 
caparisoned  pony  who  jingled  his  bells  as  he  trotted  by,  the 
peasant  girls  as  they  sat  at  their  lace  cushions  before  the 
door,  the  rosy  urchins  who  gambolled  in  the  deep  grass,  all 
told  of  plenty,  —  that  blessing  which  to  man  is  as  the  sun- 


THE  CONVENT  ON  THE  MEUSE.        277 

light  to  a  landscape,  making  the  fertile  spots  more  beautiful, 
and  giving  even  to  ruggeduess  an  aspect  of  stern  grandeur. 

'•  Oh,  brother  Peter,  that  we  could  see  something  like 
this  at  home,"  cried  she.  "  See  that  girl  yonder  watering 
the  flowers  in  her  little  garden,  —  how  prettily  that  old  vine 
is  trained  over  the  balcony,  —  mark  the  scarlet  tassels  in 
the  snow-white  team,  —  are  not  these  signs  of  an  existence 
not  linked  to  daily  drudgery  ?  I  wish  our  people  could  be 
like  these." 

"  Here  we  are,  Dinah  :  there  is  the  convent !  "  cried  Bar- 
rington,  as  a  tall  massive  roof  appeared  over  the  tree-tops, 
and  the  little  carriage  now  turned  from  the  high-road  into  a 
shady  avenue  of  tall  elms.  "What  a  grand  old  place  it 
is!  some  great  seigniorial  chateau  once  on  a  time." 

As  they  drew  nigh,  nothing  bespoke  the  cloister.  The 
massive  old  building,  broken  by  many  a  projection  and 
varied  by  many  a  gable,  stood,  like  the  mansion  of  some 
rich  proprietor,  in  a  vast  wooded  lawn.  The  windows  lay 
open,  the  terrace  was  covered  with  orange  and  lemon  trees 
and  flowering  plants,  amid  which  seats  were  scattered  ;  and 
in  the  rooms  within,  the  furniture  indicated  habits  of  com- 
fort and  even  of  luxury.  With  all  this,  no  living  thing  was 
to  be  seen ;  and  when  Barrington  got  down  and  entered  the 
hall,  he  neither  found  a  servant  nor  any  means  to  summon 
one. 

"  You'll  have  to  move  that  little  slide  you  see  in  the  door 
there,"  said  the  driver  of  the  carriage,  "  and  some  one  will 
come  to  you." 

He  did  so ;  and  after  waiting  a  few  moments,  a  some- 
what ruddy,  cheerful  face,  surmounted  by  a  sort  of  widow's 
cap,  appeared,  and  asked  his  business. 

'•  They  are  at  dinner,  but  if  you  will  enter  the  drawing- 
room  she  will  come  to  you  presently." 

They  waited  for  some  time ;  to  them  it  seemed  very  long, 
for  they  never  spoke,  but  sat  there  in  still  thoughtfulness, 
their  hearts  very  full,  for  there  was  much  in  that  expectancy, 
and  all  the  visions  of  many  a  wakeful  night  or  dreary  day 
might  now  receive  their  shock  or  their  support.  Their 
patience  was  to  be  further  tested  ;  for,  when  the  door  opened, 
there  entered  a  grim-looking  little  woman  in  a  nun's  costume, 


278  BAllKLNGTUN. 

who,  without  previous  salutation,  announced  herself  as 
Sister  Lydia.  Whether  the  opportunity  for  expausiveness 
was  rare,  or  that  her  especial  gift  was  Uuency,  never  did  a 
little  old  woman  hold  forth  more  volubly.  As  though  anti- 
cipating all  the  worldly  objections  to  a  conventual  existence, 
or  rather  seeming  to  suppose  that  every  possible  thing  had 
been  actually  said  on  that  ground,  she  assumed  the  defence 
the  very  moment  she  sat  down.  Nothing  short  of  long  prac- 
tice with  this  argument  could  have  stored  her  mind  with  all 
her  instances,  her  quotations,  and  her  references.  Nor  could 
anything  short  of  a  firm  conviction  have  made  her  so  cour- 
ageously indifferent  to  the  feelings  she  was  outraging,  for 
she  never  scrupled  to  arraign  the  two  strangers  before  her 
for  ignorance,  apathy,  worldliness,  sordid  and  poor  ambi- 
tions, and,  last  of  all,  a  levity  unbecoming  their  time  of 
life. 

"  I  'm  not  quite  sure  that  I  understand  her  aright,"  whis- 
pered Peter,  whose  familiarity  with  French  was  not  what  it 
had  once  been ;  "  but  if  I  do,  Dinah,  she  's  giving  us  a  rare 
lesson." 

"She's  the  most  insolent  old  woman  I  ever  met  in  my 
life,"  said  his  sister,  whose  violent  use  of  her  fan  seemed 
either  likely  to  provoke  or  to  prevent  a  fit  of  apoplexy. 

"  It  is  usual,"  resumed  Sister  Lydia,  "  to  give  persons 
who  are  about  to  exercise  the  awful  responsibility  now 
devolving  upon  you  the  opportunity  of  well  weighing  and 
reflecting  over  the  arguments  I  have  somewhat  faintly 
shadowed  forth." 

"  Oh,  not  faintly!  "  groaned  Barrington. 

But  she  minded  nothing  the  interruption,  and  went  on,  — 

"And  for  this  purpose  a  little  tract  has  been  composed, 
entitled  '  A  Word  to  the  Worldling.'  Tliis,  with  your  per- 
mission, I  will  place  in  your  hands.  You  will  there  find  at 
more  length  than  I  could  bestow —  But  I  fear  I  impose 
upon  this  lady's  patience?" 

"  It  has  left  me  long  since,  madam,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  as 
she  actually  gasped  for  breath. 

In  the  grim  half-smile  of  the  old  nun  might  be  seen  the 
triumphant  consciousness  that  placed  her  above  the  "  mun- 
dane ;  "  but  she  did  not  resent  the  speech,  simply  saying  that, 


THE  CONVENT  OX  THE  MEUSE. 


279 


as  it  was  the  hour  of  recreation,  perhaps  she  would  like  to 
see  her  young  ward  in  the  garden  with  her  companions. 

"  By  all  means.  We  thank  you  heartily  for  the  offer," 
cried  Barrington,  rising  hastily. 

"With  another  smile,  still  more  meaningly  a  reproof,  Sister 
Lydia  reminded   him  that   the  profane  foot  of  a  man   had 


-e-.ar»  *<5-^^''i^r-^^ 


never  transgressed  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  convent 
garden,  and  that  he  must  remain  where  he  was. 

"For  Heaven's  sake!  Dinah,  don't  keep  me  a  prisoner 
here  a  moment  longer  than  you  can  help  it,"  cried  he,  "  or 
I'll  not  answer  for  my  good  behavior." 

As  Barrington  paced  up  and  down  the  room  with  impatient 
steps,  he  could  not  escape  the  self-accusation  that  all  his 
present  anxiety  was  scarcely  compatible  with  the  long,  long 
years  of  neglect  and  oblivion  he  had  suffered  to  glide  over. 


280  BARRINGTON. 

The  years  in  which  he  had  never  heard  of  Josephine  —  never 
asked  for  her  —  was  a  charge  there  was  no  rebutting.  Of 
course  he  could  fall  back  upon  all  tiiat  special  pleading  inge- 
nuity and  self-love  will  supply  about  his  own  misfortunes, 
the  crushing  embarrassments  that  befell  him,  and  such  like. 
But  it  was  no  use,  it  was  desertion,  call  it  how  he  would ;  and 
poor  as  he  was  he  had  never  been  without  a  roof  to  shelter 
her,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  false  pride  he  would  have 
offered  her  that  refuge  long  ago.  He  was  actually  startled 
as  he  thought  over  all  this.  Your  generous  people,  who  for- 
give injuries  with  little  effort,  who  bear  no  malice  nor  cherish 
any  resentment,  would  be  angels  —  downright  angels  —  if  we 
did  not  find  that  they  are  just  as  indulgent,  just  as  merciful 
to  themselves  as  to  the  world  at  large.  They  become  per- 
fect adepts  in  apologies,  and  with  one  cast  of  the  net  draw  in 
a  whole  shoal  of  attenuating  circumstances.  To  be  sure, 
there  will  now  and  then  break  in  upon  them  a  startling  sus- 
picion that  all  is  not  right,  and  that  conscience  has  been 
"cooking"  the  account;  aud  when  such  a  moment  does 
come,  it  is  a  very  painful  one. 

"Egad!"  muttered  he  to  himself,  "we  have  been  very 
heartless  all  this  time,  there's  no  denying  it;  and  if  poor 
George's  girl  be  a  disciple  of  that  grim  old  woman  with  the 
rosary  and  the  wrinkles,  it  is  nobody's  fault  but  our  own." 
He  looked  at  his  watch;  Dinah  had  been  gone  more  than 
half  an  hour.  What  a  time  to  keep  him  in  suspense!  Of 
course  there  were  formalities,  —  the  Sister  Lydia  described 
innumerable  ones,  —  jail  delivery  was  nothing  to  it,  but 
surely  five-and-thirty  minutes  would  suffice  to  sign  a  score 
of  documents.  The  place  was  becoming  hateful  to  him. 
The  grand  old  park,  with  its  aged  oaks,  seemed  sad  as  a 
graveyard,  and  the  great  silent  house,  where  not  a  footfall 
sounded,  appeared  a  tomb.  "Poor  child!  what  a  dreary 
spot  you  have  spent  your  brightest  years  in,  —  what  a 
shadow  to  throw  over  the  whole  of  a  lifetime! " 

He  had  just  arrived  at  that  point  wherein  his  grand- 
daughter arose  before  his  mind  a  pale,  careworn,  sorrow- 
sti-uck  girl,  crushed  beneath  the  dreary  monotony  of  a 
joyless  life,  and  seeming  only  to  move  in  a  sort  of  dreamy 
melancholy,   when   the  door  opened,  and  Miss  Barriugton 


THE   CONVENT  ON  THE  MEUSE.  281 

entered  with  her  arm  around  a  young  girl  tall  as  herself,  and 
from  whose  commanding  figure  even  the  ungainly  dress  she 
wore  could  not  take  away  the  dignit}'. 

"This  is  Josephine,  Peter,"  said  Miss  Dinah;  and  though 
Barrington  rushed  forward  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  she 
merely  crossed  hers  demurely  on  her  breast  and  courtesied 
deeply. 

"It  is  your  grandpapa,  Josephine,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  half 
tartly. 

The  young  girl  opened  her  large,  full,  lustrous  eyes,  and 
stared  steadfastly  at  him,  and  then,  with  infinite  grace,  she 
took  his  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"My  own  dear  child,"  cried  the  old  man,  throwing  his 
arms  around  her,  "it  is  not  homage,  it  is  your  love  we 
want." 

"Take  care,  Peter,  take  care,"  whispered  his  sister;  "she 
is  very  timid  and  very  strange." 

"You  speak  English,  I  hope,  dear?"  said  the  old  man. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  like  it  best,"  said  she.  And  there  was  the 
very  faintest  possible  foreign  accent  in  the  words. 

"Is  n't  that  George's  own  voice,  Dinah?  Don't  you  think 
you  heard  himself  there?  " 

"The  voice  is  certainly  like  him,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  with 
a  marked  emphasis. 

"And  so  are  —  no,  not  her  eyes,  but  her  brow,  Dinah. 
Yes,  darling,  you  have  his  own  frank  look,  and  I  feel  sure 
you  have  his  own  generous  nature." 

"They  say  I'm  like  my  mother's  picture,"  said  she, 
unfastening  a  locket  she  wore  from  its  chain  and  handing  it. 
And  both  Peter  and  his  sister  gazed  eagerly  at  the  minia- 
ture. It  was  of  a  very  dark  but  handsome  woman  in  a 
rich  turban,  and  who,  though  profusely  ornamented  with 
costly  gems,  did,  in  reality,  present  a  resemblance  to  the 
cloistered  figure  before  them. 

"Am  I  like  her?"  asked  the  girl,  with  a  shade  more  of 
earnestness  in  her  voice. 

"You  are,  darling;  but  like  your  father,  too,  and  every 
word  you  utter  brings  back  his  memory;  and  see,  Dinah,  if 
that  is  n't  George's  old  trick,  —  to  lay  one  hand  in  the  palm 
of  the  other." 


282  BARRINGTON. 

As  if  corrected,  the  young  girl  dropped  her  arms  to  her 
sides  and  stood  like  a  statue. 

"Be  like  him  iu  everything,  dearest  child,"  said  the  old 
man,  "if  you  would  have  my  heart  all  your  own." 

"I  must  be  what  I  am,"  said  she,  solemnly. 

"Just  so,  Josephine;  well  said,  my  good  girl.  Be  natu- 
ral," said  Miss  Dinah,  kissing  her,  "and  our  love  will 
never  fail  you." 

There  was  the  faintest  little  smile  of  acknowledgment  to 
this  speech;  but  faint  as  it  was,  it  dimpled  her  cheek,  and 
seemed  to  have  left  a  pleasant  expression  on  her  face,  for 
old  Peter  gazed  on  her  with  increased  delight  as  he  said, 
"That  was  George's  own  smile;  just  the  Avay  he  used  to 
look,  half  grave,  half  merry.  Oh,  how  you  bring  him  back 
to  me ! " 

"You  see,  my  dear  child,  that  you  are  one  of  us;  let  us 
hope  you  will  share  iu  the  happiness  this  gives  us." 

The  girl  listened  attentively  to  Miss  Dinah's  words,  and 
after  a  pause  of  apparent  thought  over  them,  said,  "I  will 
hope  so." 

"May  we  leave  this,  Dinah?  Are  we  free  to  get  away?  " 
whispered  Barrington  to  his  sister,  for  an  unaccountable 
oppression  seemed  to  weigh  on  him,  both  from  the  place 
and  its  belongings. 

"Yes;  Josephine  has  only  one  good-bye  to  say;  her  trunks 
are  already  on  the  carriage,  and  there  is  nothing  more  to 
detain  us." 

"Go  and  say  that  farewell,  dear  child,"  said  he,  affection- 
ately; "and  be  speedy,  for  there  are  longing  hearts  here  to 
wish  for  your  return." 

With  a  grave  and  quiet  mien  she  walked  away,  and  as  she 
gained  the  door  turned  round  and  made  a  deep,  respectful 
courtesy,  —  a  movement  so  ceremonious  that  the  old  man 
involuntarily  replied  to  it  by  a  bow  as  deep  and  reverential. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

George's  daughter. 

I  SUPPOSE,  nay,  I  am  certain,  that  the  memory  of  our  hap- 
piest moments  ought  ever  to  be  of  the  very  faintest  and 
weakest,  since,  could  we  recall  them  in  all  their  fulness  and 
freshness,  the  recollection  would  only  serve  to  deepen  the 
gloom  of  age,  and  imbitter  all  its  daily  trials.  Nor  is  it, 
altogether,  a  question  of  memory !  It  is  in  the  very  essence 
of  happiness  to  be  indescribable.  Who  could  impart  in 
words  the  simple  pleasure  he  has  felt  as  he  lay  day-dreaming 
in  the  deep  grass,  lulled  by  the  humming  insect,  or  the  splash 
of  falling  water,  with  teeming  fancy  peopling  the  space 
around,  and  blending  the  possible  with  the  actual?  The 
more  exquisite  the  sense  of  enjoyment,  the  more  will  it 
defy  delineation.  And  so,  when  we  come  to  describe  the 
happiness  of  others,  do  we  find  our  words  weak,  and  our 
attempt  mere  failure. 

It  is  in  this  difficulty  that  I  now  find  myself.  I  would  tell, 
if  I  could,  how  enjoyably  the  Barriugtons  sauntered  about 
through  the  old  villages  on  the  Rhine  and  up  the  Moselle, 
less  travelling  than  strolling  along  in  purposeless  indolence, 
resting  here,  and  halting  there,  always  interested,  always 
pleased.  It  was  strange  into  what  perfect  harmony  these 
three  natures  —  unlike  as  they  were  —  blended ! 

Old  Peter's  sympathies  went  with  all  things  human,  and 
he  loved  to  watch  the  village  life  and  catch  what  he  could 
of  its  ways  and  instincts.  His  sister,  to  whom  the  love  of 
scenery  was  a  passion,  never  wearied  of  the  picturesque 
land  they  travelled ;  and  as  for  Josephine,  she  was  no  longer 
the  demure  pensionnaire  of  the  convent,  —  thoughtful  and 
reserved,  even  to  secrecy,  —  but  a  happy  child,  revelling  in 
a  thousand  senses  of  enjoyment,  and  actually  exulting  in 


284  BARRINGTON. 

the  beauty  of  all  she  saw  around  her.  What  depression 
must  come  of  captivity,  when  even  its  faintest  image,  the 
cloister,  could  have  weighed  down  a  heart  like  hers!  Such 
was  Barringtou's  thought  as  he  beheld  her  at  play  with  the 
peasant  children,  weaving  garlands  for  a  village  fete^  or 
joyously  joining  the  chorus  of  a  peasant  song.  There 
was,  besides,  something  singularly  touching  in  the  half- 
consciousness  of  her  freedom,  when  recalled  for  an  instant 
to  the  past  by  the  tinkling  bell  of  a  church.  She  would  seem 
to  stop  in  her  play,  and  bethink  her  how  and  why  she  was 
there,  and  then,  with  a  cry  of  joy,  bound  away  after  her 
companions  in  wild  delight. 

"Dearest  aunt,"  said  she,  one  day,  as  they  sat  on  a  rocky 
ledge  over  the  little  river  that  traverses  the  Lahnech,  "shall 
I  always  find  the  same  enjoyment  in  life  that  I  feel  now, 
for  it  seems  to  me  this  is  a  measure  of  happiness  that  could 
not  endure  ?  " 

"Some  share  of  this  is  owing  to  contrast,  Fifine.  Youi 
convent  life  had  not  too  many  pleasures." 

"It  was,  or  rather  it  seems  to  me  now,  as  I  look  back,  a 
long  and  weary  dream;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  appears 
more  real  than  this ;  for  do  what  I  may  I  cannot  imagine 
this  to  be  the  world  of  misery  and  sorrow  I  have  heard  so 
much  of.  Can  any  one  fancy  a  scene  more  beautiful  than 
this  before  us?  Where  is  the  perfume  more  exquisite  than 
these  violets  I  now  crush  in  my  hand?  The  peasants,  as 
they  salute  us,  look  happy  and  contented.  Is  it,  then,  only 
in  great  cities  that  men  make  each  other  miserable?" 

Dinah  shook  her  head,  but  did  not  speak. 

"I  am  so  glad  grandpapa  does  not  live  in  a  city.  Aunt, 
I  am  never  wearied  of  hearing  you  talk  of  that  dear  cottage 
beside  the  river;  and  through  all  my  present  delight  I  feel 
a  sense  of  impatience  to  be  there,  to  be  at  'home.'  " 

"So  that  you  will  not  hold  us  to  our  pledge  to  bring  you 
back  to  Bramaigne,  Fifine,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  smiling. 

"Oh  no,  no!  Not  if  you  will  let  me  live  with  you. 
Never!" 

"But  you  have  been  happy  up  to  this,  Fifine?  You  have 
said  over  and  over  again  that  your  convent  life  was  dear  to 
you,  and  all  its  ways  pleasant." 


GEORGE'S  DAUGHTER.  285 

"It  is  just  the  same  change  to  me  to  live  as  I  now  do,  as 
in  my  heart  I  feel  changed  after  reading  out  one  of  those 
delightful  stories  to  grandpapa,  —  Rob  Roy,  for  instance. 
It  all  tells  of  a  world  so  much  more  bright  and  beautiful 
than  I  know  of,  that  it  seems  as  though  new  senses  were 
given  to  me.  It  is  so  strange  and  so  captivating,  too,  to 
hear  of  generous  impulses,  noble  devotion,  —  of  faith  that 
never  swerved,  and  love  that  never  faltered. 

"In  novels,  child;  these  were  in  novels." 

"True,  aunt;  but  they  had  found  no  place  there  had  they 
been  incredible ;  at  least,  it  is  clear  that  he  who  tells  the 
tale  would  have  us  believe  it  to  be  true." 

Miss  Dinah  had  not  been  a  convert  to  her  brother's  notions 
as  to  Fifine's  readings;  and  she  was  now  more  disposed  to 
doubt  than  ever.  To  overthrow  of  a  sudden,  as  though  by  a 
great  shock,  all  the  stern  realism  of  a  cloister  existence,  and 
supply  its  place  with  fictitious  incidents  and  people,  seemed 
rash  and  perilous ;  but  old  Peter  only  thought  of  giving  a 
full  liberty  to  the  imprisoned  spirit,  —  striking  off  chain  and 
fetter,  and  setting  the  captive  free,  —  free  in  all  the  glorious 
liberty  of  a  young  imagination. 

"Well,  here  comes  grandpapa,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  "and, 
if  I  don't  mistake,  with  a  book  in  his  hand  for  one  of  your 
morning  readings." 

Josephine  ran  eagerly  to  meet  him,  and,  fondly  drawing 
her  arm  within  his  own,  came  back  at  his  side. 

"The  third  volume,  Fifine,  the  third  volume,"  said  he, 
holding  the  book  aloft.  "Only  think,  child,  what  fates  are 
enclosed  within  a  third  volume !  AVhat  a  deal  of  happiness 
or  long-living  misery  are  here  included !  " 

She  struggled  to  take  the  book  from  his  hand,  but  he 
evaded  her  grasp,  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket,  saying,  — 

"Not  till  evening,  Fifine.  I  am  bent  on  a  long  ramble 
up  the  Glen  this  morning,  and  you  shall  tell  me  all  about 
the  sisterhood,  and  sing  me  one  of  those  little  Latin  canti- 
cles I  'm  so  fond  of." 

"Meanwhile,  I'll  go  and  finish  my  letter  to  Polly  Dill. 
I  told  her,  Peter,  that  by  Thursday  next,  or  Friday,  she 
might  expect  us." 

"I  hope  so,  with  all  my  heart;  for,  beautiful  as  all  this 


286  BARRINGTON. 

is,  it  wants  the  greatest  cbarin,  —  it's  not  liome!     Then  I 
want,  besides,  to  see  Filine  full  of  household  cares." 

"Feeding  the  chickens  instead  of  chasing  the  butterflies, 
Fifiue.  Totting  up  the  house-bills,  in  lieu  of  sighing  over 
'  Waverley. '  " 

"And,  if  I  know  Fifine,  she  will  be  able  to  do  one  with- 
out relinquishing  the  other,"  said  Peter,  gravely.  "Our 
daily  life  is  all  the  more  beautiful  when  it  has  its  landscape 
reliefs  of  light  and' shadow." 

"I  think  I  could,  too,"  cried  Fifine,  eagerly.  "I  feel  as 
though  I  could  work  in  the  fields  and  be  happy,  just  in  the 
conscious  sense  of  doing  what  it  was  goocl  to  do,  and  what 
others  would  praise  me  for. " 

"There's  a  paymaster  will  never  fail  you  in  such  hire," 
said  Miss  Dinah,  pointing  to  her  brother;  and  then,  turning 
away,  she  walked  back  to  the  little  inn.  As  she  drew  nigh, 
the  landlord  came  to  tell  her  that  a  young  gentleman,  on 
seeing  her  name  in  the  list  of  strangers,  had  made  many 
inquiries  after  her,  and  begged  he  might  be  informed  of  her 
return.  On  learning  that  he  was  in  the  garden,  she  went 
thither  at  once. 

"I  felt  it  was  you.  I  knew  who  had  been  asking  for  me, 
Mr.  Conyers,"  said  she,  advancing  towards  Fred  with  her 
hand  out.  "But  what  strange  chance  could  have  led  you 
here?" 

"You  have  just  said  it.  Miss  Barrington;  a  chance,  — a 
mere  chance.  1  had  got  a  short  leave  from  my  regiment, 
and  came  abroad  to  wander  about  with  no  very  definite 
object;  but,  growing  impatient  of  the  wearisome  hordes  of 
our  countrymen  on  the  Rhine,  I  turned  aside  yesterday  from 
that  great  high-road  and  reached  this  spot,  whose  greatest 
charm  —  shall  I  own  it?  —  was  a  fancied  resemblance  to  a 
scene  I  loved  far  better." 

"You  are  right.  It  was  only  this  morning  my  brother 
said  it  was  so  like  our  own  cottage." 

"And  he  is  here  also?"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  half- 
constraint. 

"Yes,  and  very  eager  to  see  you,  and  ask  your  forgive 
ness  for  his  ungracious  manner  to  you ;  not  that  I  saw  it, 
or  understand  what  it  could  mean,  but  he  says  that  he  has 
a  pardon  to  crave  at  your  hands." 


GEORGE'S  DAUGHTER. 


287 


So  confused  was  Conyers  for  an  instant  that  he  made 
no  answer,  and  when  he  did  speak  it  was  falteringly  and 
with  embarrassment. 

"I  never  could  have  anticipated  meeting  you  here.  It  is 
more  good  fortune  than  I  ever  looked  for." 


"We  came  over  to  the  Continent  to  fetch  away  my  grand- 
niece,  the  daughter  of  that  Colonel  Harrington  you  have 
heard  so  much  of." 

"And  is  she  —  "  He  stopped,  and  grew  scarlet  with  con- 
fusion ;  but  she  broke  in,  laughingly,  — 

"No,  not  black,  only  dark-complexioned;  in  fact,  a  bru- 
nette, and  no  more." 


288  BARRINGTON. 

"Oil,  I  don't  mean,  — I  surely  could  not  have  said  —  " 

"No  matter  what  you  meant  or  said.  Your  unuttered 
question  was  one  that  kept  occurring  to  my  brother  and 
myself  every  morning  as  we  journeyed  here,  though  neither 
of  us  had  the  courage  to  speak  it.  But  our  wonders  are 
over ;  she  is  a  dear  good  girl,  and  we  love  her  better  every 
day  we  see  her.  But  now  a  little  about  yourself.  Why  do 
I  find  you  so  low  and  depressed  ?  " 

"1  have  had  much  to  fret  me.  Miss  Barriugton.  Some 
-were  things  that  could  give  but  passing  unhappiness ;  others 
were  of  graver  import." 

"Tell  me  so  much  as  you  may  of  them,  and  I  will  try  to 
help  you  to  bear  up  against  them." 

"I  will  tell  you  all,  — everything!  "  cried  he.  "It  is  the 
very  moment  I  have  been  longing  for,  when  I  could  pour  out 
all  my  cares  before  you  and  ask,  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Miss  Barrington  silently  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and 
they  strolled  along  the  shady  alley  without  a  word. 

"I  must  begin  with  my  great  grief,  —  it  absorbs  all  the 
rest,"  said  he,  suddenly.  "My  father  is  coming  home;  he 
has  lost,  or  thrown  up,  I  can't  tell  which,  his  high  employ- 
ment. I  have  heard  both  versions  of  the  story;  and  his 
own  few  words,  in  the  only  letter  he  has  written  me,  do  not 
confirm  either.  His  tone  is  indignant;  but  far  more  it  is 
sad  and  depressed,  — he  who  never  wrote  a  line  but  in  the 
joyousness  of  his  high-hearted  nature;  who  met  each  acci- 
dent of  life  with  an  undaunted  spirit,  and  spurned  the  very 
thought  of  being  cast  down  by  fortune.  See  what  he  says 
here."  And  he  took  a  much  crumpled  letter  from  his  pocket, 
and  folded  down  a  part  of  it.  "Read  that.  'The  time 
for  men  of  my  stamp  is  gone  by  in  India.  We  are  as 
much  bygones  as  the  old  flint  musket  or  the  matchlock. 
Soldiers  of  a  different  temperament  are  the  fashion  now; 
and  the  sooner  we  are  pensioned  or  die  off  the  better.  For 
my  own  part,  I  am  sick  of  it.  I  have  lost  my  liver  and 
have  not  made  my  fortune,  and  like  men  who  have  missed 
their  opportunities,  I  come  away  too  discontented  with 
myself  to  think  well  of  any  one.  They  fancied  that  by 
coldness  and  neglect  they  might  get  rid  of  me,  as  they  did 
once  before  of  a  far  worthier  and  better  fellow;  but  though 


GEORGE'S  DAUGHTER.  289 

I  never  had  the  courage  that  he  had,  they  shall  not  break 
my  heart.'  Does  it  strike  you  to  whom  he  alludes  there?" 
asked  Conyers,  suddenly;  "for  each  time  that  I  read  the 
words  I  am  more  disposed  to  believe  that  they  refer  to 
Colonel  Harrington." 

"I  am  sure  of  it! "  cried  she.  "It  is  the  testimony  of  a 
sorrow-stricken  heait  to  an  old  friend's  memory;  but  I  hear 
my  brother's  voice;  let  me  go  and  tell  him  you  are  here." 
But  Barrington  was  already  coming  towards  them. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Conyers!  "  cried  he.  "If  you  knew  how  I  have 
longed  for  this  moment!  I  believe  you  are  the  only  man  iu 
the  world  I  ever  ill  treated  on  my  own  threshold ;  but  the 
very  thought  of  it  gave  me  a  fit  of  illness,  and  now  the  best 
thing  I  know  on  my  recovery  is,  that  I  am  here  to  ask  your 
pardon." 

"I  have  really  nothing  to  forgive.  I  met  under  your 
roof  with  a  kindness  that  never  befell  me  before ;  nor  do  I 
know  the  spot  on  earth  where  I  could  look  for  the  like 
to-morrow." 

"Come  back  to  it,  then,  and  see  if  the  charm  should  not 
be  there  still." 

"Where 's  Josephine,  brother?"  asked  Miss  Barrington, 
who,  seeing  the  young  man's  agitation,  wished  to  change 
the  theme. 

"She's  gone  to  put  some  ferns  in  water;  but  hei'e  she 
comes  now." 

Bounding  wildly  along,  like  a  child  in  joyous  freedom, 
Josephine  came  towards  them,  and,  suddenly  halting  at 
sight  of  a  stranger,  she  stopped  and  courtesied  deeply,  while 
Conyers,  half  ashamed  at  his  own  unhappy  blunder  about 
her,  blushed  deeply  as  he  saluted  her.  Indeed,  their  meet- 
ing was  more  like  that  of  two  awkward  timid  children  than 
of  two  young  persons  of  their  age ;  and  they  eyed  each  other 
with  the  distrust  school  boys  and  girls  exchange  on  a  first 
acquaintance. 

"Brother,  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  said  Miss  Bar- 
rington, who  was  eager  to  communicate  the  news  she  had 
just  heard  of  General  Conyers ;  and  while  she  drew  him  to 
one  side,  the  young  people  still  stood  there,  each  seeming  to 
expect  the  other  would  make  some  advance  towards  acquaint- 

VOL.   I.  — 19 


290  BxVRKINGTON. 

auceship.  Conyers  tried  to  saj'  some  commonplace,  —  some 
one  of  the  fifty  things  that  would  have  occuired  so  naturally 
in  presence  of  a  young  lady  to  whom  he  had  been  just  pre- 
sented; but  he  could  think  of  none,  or  else  those  that  he 
thought  of  seemed  inappropriate.  How  talk,  for  instance, 
of  the  world  and  its  pleasures  to  one  who  had  been  estranged 
from  it!  While  he  thus  struggled  and  contended  with 
himself,  she  suddenly  started  as  if  with  a  Hash  of  memory, 
and  said,  "How  forgetful!  " 

"Forgetful!  — and  of  what?"  asked  he. 

"I  have  left  the  book  I  was  reading  to  grandpapa  on  the 
rock  where  we  were  sitting.     I  must  go  and  fetch  it." 

"May  I  go  with  you?"  asked  he,  half  timidly. 

"Yes,  if  you  like." 

"And  your  book,  — what  was  it?  " 

"Oh,  a  charming  book, — such  a  delightful  story!  So 
many  people  one  would  have  loved  to  know!  —  such  scenes 
one  would  have  loved  to  visit !  —  incidents,  too,  that  keep 
the  heart  in  intense  anxietj',  that  you  wonder  how  he  who 
imagined  them  could  have  sustained  the  thrilling  interest, 
and  held  his  own  heart  so  long  in  terrible  suspense!" 

"And  the  name  of  this  wonderful  book  is  —  " 

"' Waverley.'" 

"I  have  read  it,"  said  he,  coldly. 

"And  have  j'ou  not  longed  to  be  a  soldier?  Has  not 
your  heart  bounded  with  eagerness  for  a  life  of  adventure 
and  peril  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  soldier,"  said  he,  quietly. 

"  Indeed  !  "  replied  she,  slowly,  while  her  steadfast  glance 
scanned  him  calml}'  and  deliberatel}'. 

"  You  find  it  hard  to  recognize  as  a  soldier  one  dressed  as 
I  am,  and  probably  wonder  how  such  a  life  as  this  consorts 
with  enterprise  and  danger.  Is  not  that  what  is  passing  in 
your  mind  ?  " 

"  Mayhap,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  It  is  all  because  the  world  has  changed  a  good  deal  since 
"Waverley's  time." 

"  How  sorry  I  am  to  hear  it !  " 

"  Nay,  for  your  sake  it  is  all  the  better.  Young  ladies 
have  a  pleasanter  existence  now  than  they  had  sixty  years 


GEORGE'S  DAUGHTER.  291 

since.     They   lived   then   lives   of    household  drudgery   or 
utter  weariness." 

"  And  what  have  they  now?  "  asked  she,  eagerly. 

' '  What  have  they  not !  All  that  can  embellish  life  is 
around  them ;  they  are  taught  in  a  hundred  ways  to  employ 
the  faculties  which  give  to  existence  its  highest  charm. 
They  draw,  sing,  dance,  ride,  dress  becomingly,  read  what 
may  give  to  their  conversation  an  added  elegance  and  make 
their  presence  felt  as  an  added  lustre." 

"How  unlike  all  this  was  our  convent  life!"  said  she, 
slowly.  "The  beads  in  my  rosary  were  not  more  alike 
than  the  days  that  followed  each  other,  and  but  for  the 
change  of  season  I  should  have  thought  life  a  dreary  sleep. 
Oh,  if  you  but  knew  what  a  charm  there  is  in  the  change- 
ful year  to  one  who  lives  in  any  bondage  !  " 

"  And  yet  I  remember  to  have  heard  how  you  hoped  you 
might  not  be  taken  away  from  that  convent  life,  and  be 
compelled  to  enter  the  world,"  said  he,  with  a  malicious 
twinkle  of  the  eye. 

"True;  and  had  I  lived  there  still  I  had  not  asked  for 
other.  But  how  came  it  that  you  should  have  heard  of  me  ? 
I  never  heard  of  you  !  " 

"  That  is  easily  told.  I  was  your  aunt's  guest  at  the 
time  she  resolved  to  come  abroad  to  see  you  and  fetch  you 
home.  I  used  to  hear  all  her  plans  about  you,  so  that  at 
last— I  blush  to  own  —  I  talked  of  Josephine  as  though 
she  were  my  sister." 

"How  strangely  cold  you  were,  then,  when  we  met!" 
said  she,  quietly.  "Was  it  that  you  found  me  so  unlike 
what  you  expected  ?  " 

"Unlike,  indeed!  " 

"Tell  me  how  — tell  me,  I  pray  you,  what  you  had 
pictured  me." 

"It  was  not  mere  fancy  I  drew  from.  There  was  a 
miniature  of  you  as  a  child  at  the  cottage,  and  I  have  looked 
at  it  till  I  could  recall  every  line  of  it." 

"  Go  on  !  "  cried  she,  as  he  hesitated. 

"  The  child's  face  was  very  serious,  — actually  grave  for 
childhood,— and  had  something  almost  stern  in  its  expres- 
sion ;  and  vet  I  see  nothing  of  this  in  yours." 


292  BARllINGTON. 

"So  that,  like  grandpapa,"  said  she,  laughing,  "you 
were  disappointed  in  not  finding  me  a  young  tiger  from 
Bengal ;  but  be  patient,  and  remember  how  long  it  is  since 
I  left  the  jungle." 

Sportively  as  the  words  were  uttered,  her  eyes  flashed 
and  her  cheek  colored,  and  Conyers  saw  for  the  first  time 
how  she  resembled  her  portrait  in  infancy. 

"  Yes,"  added  she,  as  though  answering  what  was  passing 
In  his  mind,  "you  are  thinking  just  like  the  sisters,  '  What 
years  and  years  it  would  take  to  discipline  one  of  such  a 
race !  '  I  have  heard  that  given  as  a  reason  for  numberless 
inflictions.  And  now,  all  of  a  sudden,  comes  grandpapa  to 
say,  '  We  love  you  so  because  you  are  one  of  us.'  Can  you 
understand  this?" 

"I  think  I  can, — that  is,  I  think  I  can  understand 
why  — "  he  was  going  to  add,  "why  they  should  love 
you ;  "  but  he  stopped,  ashamed  of  his  own  eagerness. 

She  waited  a  moment  for  him  to  continue,  and  then,  her- 
self blushing,  as  though  she  had  guessed  his  embarrassment, 
she  turned  away. 

"  And  this  book  that  we  have  been  forgetting,  —  let  us  go 
and  search  for  it,"  said  she,  walking  on  rapidly  in  front  of 
him ;  but  he  was  speedily  at  her  side  again. 

"Look  there,  brother  Peter,  —  look  there!"  said  Miss 
Dinah,  as  she  pointed  after  them,  "  and  see  how  well  fitted 
we  are  to  be  guardians  to  a  young  lady !  " 

"I  see  no  harm  in  it,  Dinah,  — I  protest,  I  see  no  harm 
in  it." 

"Possibly  not,  brother  Peter,  and  it  may  only  be  a  part 
of  your  system  for  making  her  —  as  you  phrase  it  —  feel 
a  holy  horror  of  the  convent." 

"Well,"  said  he,  meditatively,  "he  seems  a  fine,  frank- 
hearted  young  fellow,  and  in  this  world  she  is  about  to 
enter,  her  first  experiences  might  easily  be  worse." 

"I  vow  and  declare,"  cried  she,  warmly,  "I  believe  it  is 
your  slipshod  philosophy  that  makes  me  as  severe  as  a  holy 
inquisitor! " 

"P^very  evil  calls  forth  its  own  correction,  Dinah,"  said 
he,  laughing.  "  If  there  were  no  fools  to  skate  on  the  Sei^ 
pentine,  there  had  been  no  Humane  Society." 


GEORGE'S  DAUGHTER.  293 

"One  might  grow  tired  of  the  task  of  resuscitating,  Peter 
Harrington,"  said  she,  hardly. 

"Not  you,  not  you,  Dinah, — at  least,  if  I  was  the 
drowned  man,"  said  he,  drawing  her  affectionately  to  his 
side;  "and  as  for  those  young  creatures  yonder,  it 's  like 
gathering  dog-roses,  and  they  '11  stop  when  they  have  pricked 
their  fingers." 

"I'll  go  and  look  after  the  nosegay  myself,"  said  she, 
turning  hastily  away,  and  following  them. 

A  real  liking  for  Conyers,  and  a  sincere  interest  in  him 
were  the  great  correctives  to  the  part  of  Dragon  which  Miss 
Dinah  declared  she  foresaw  to  be  her  future  lot  in  life. 
For  years  and  years  had  she  believed  that  the  cares  of  a 
household  and  the  rule  of  servants  were  the  last  trials  of 
human  patience.  The  larder,  the  dairy,  and  the  garden 
were  each  of  them  departments  with  special  opportunities 
for  deception  and  embezzlement,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that 
new  discoveries  in  roguery  kept  pace  with  the  inventions  of 
science ;  but  she  was  energetic  and  active,  and  kept  herself 
at  what  the  French  would  call  "the  level  of  the  situation;" 
and  neither  the  cook  nor  the  dairymaid  nor  Darby  could 
be  vainglorious  over  their  battles  with  her.  And  now,  all 
of  a  sudden,  a  new  part  was  assigned  her,  with  new  duties, 
functions,  and  requirements ;  and  she  was  called  on  to  exer- 
cise qualities  which  had  lain  long  dormant  and  in  disuse, 
and  renew  a  knowledge  she  had  not  employed  for  many  a 
year.  And  what  a  strange  blending  of  pleasure  and  pain 
must  have  come  of  that  memory  of  long  ago!  Old  conquests 
revived,  old  rivalries  and  jealousies  and  triumphs;  glori- 
ous little  glimpses  of  brilliant  delight,  and  some  dark  hours, 
too,  of  disappointment,  — almost  despair! 

"Once  a  bishop,  always  a  bishop,"  says  the  canon;  but 
might  we  not  with  almost  as  much  truth  say,  "Once  a 
beauty,  always  a  beauty  "  ?  —  not  in  lineament  and  feature, 
in  downy  cheek  or  silky  tresses,  but  in  the  heartfelt  con- 
sciousness of  a  once  sovereign  power,  in  that  sense  of  hav- 
ing been  able  to  exact  a  homage  and  enforce  a  tribute. 
And  as  we  see  in  the  deposed  monarch  how  the  dignity  of 
kingcraft  clings  to  him,  how  through  all  he  does  and  says 
there  runs  a  vein  of  royal   graciousness  as  from  one   the 


294  BARRINGTON. 

fount  of  honor,  so  it  is  with  beauty.  There  lives  throufh 
all  its  -wreck  the  splendid  niemor}-  of  a  despotism  the  most 
absolute,  the  most  fascinating  of  all ! 

"I  am  so  glad  that  young  Conyers  has  no  plans,  Dinah," 
said  Barriugton;  "he  says  he  will  join  us  if  we  permit 
him." 

"Humph!"  said  Miss  Barrington,  as  she  went  on  with 
her  knitting. 

"I  see  nothing  against  it,  sister." 

"Of  com-se  not,  Peter,"  said  she,  snappishly;  "it  would 
surprise  me  much  if  you  did." 

"Do  ijox^  Dinah?"  asked  he,  with  a  true  simplicity  of 
voice  and  look. 

•  "I  see  great  danger  in  it,  if  that  be  what  you  mean.  And 
what  answer  did  you  make  him,  Peter?  " 

"The  same  answer  that  1  make  to  every  one,  — I  would 
consult  my  sister  Dinah.  '  Le  Roi  s'avisera '  meant,  I  take 
it,  that  he  'd  be  led  by  a  wiser  head  than  his  own." 

"He  was  wise  when  he  knew  it,"  said  she,  sententiously, 
and  continued  her  work. 

And  from  that  day  forth  they  all  journeyed  together,  and 
one  of  them  was  very  happ}',  and  some  were  far  more  than 
happy;  and  Aunt  Dinah  was  anxious  even  beyond  her 
wont. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


THE    RAMBLE. 


Day  after  day,  week  after  week  rolled  on,  and  they  still 
rambled  about  among  the  picturesque  old  villages  on  the 
Moselle,  almost  losing  themselves  in  quaint  unvisited  spots, 
whose  very  names  were  new  to  them.  To  Barrington  and 
his  sister  this  picture  of  a  primitive  peasant  life,  with  its 
own  types  of  costume  and  custom,  had  an  indescribable 
charm.  Though  debarred,  from  his  ignorance  of  their 
dialect,  of  anything  like  intercourse  with  the  people,  he 
followed  them  in  their  ways  with  intense  interest,  and  he 
would  pass  hours  in  the  market-place,  or  stroll  through  the 
fields  watching  the  strange  culture,  and  wondering  at  the 
very  implements  of  their  labor.  And  the  young  people  all 
this  while?  They  were  never  separate.  They  read,  and 
walked,  and  sat  together  from  dawn  to  dark.  They  called 
each  other  Fifine  and  Freddy.  Sometimes  she  sang,  and 
he  was  there  to  listen;  sometimes  he  drew,  and  she  was  as 
sure  to  be  leaning  over  him  in  silent  wonder  at  his  skill ; 
but  with  all  this  there  was  no  love-making  between  them,  — 
that  is,  no  vows  were  uttered,  no  pledges  asked  for.  Confi- 
dences, indeed,  they  interchanged,  and  without  end.  She 
told  the  story  of  her  friendless  infancy,  and  the  long  dreary 
years  of  convent  life  passed  in  a  dull  routine  that  had 
almost  barred  the  heart  against  a  wish  for  change ;  and  he 
gave  her  the  story  of  his  more  splendid  existence,  charming 
her  imagination  with  a  picture  of  that  glorious  Eastern  life, 
which  seemed  to  possess  an  instinctive  captivation  for  her. 
And  at  last  he  told  her,  but  as  a  great  secret  never  to  be 
revealed,  how  his  father  and  her  own  had  been  the  dearest, 
closest  friends;  that  for  years  and  years  they  had  lived 
together  like  brothers,   till  separated  by  the  accidents  of 


296  BARRINGTON. 

life.  Her  father  weut  away  to  a  long  distant  station,  and 
}us  remained  to  hold  a  high  military  charge,  from  which  he 
was  now  relieved  and  on  his  way  back  to  Europe.  ""What 
happiness  for  you,  Freddy,"  cried  she,  as  her  eyes  ran  over, 
"to  see  him  come  home  in  honor!  AVhat  had  I  given  that 
such  a  fate  were  mine !  " 

For  an  instant  he  accepted  her  words  in  all  their  flattery, 
but  the  hypocrisy  was  brief;  her  over-full  heart  was  burst- 
ing for  sympathy,  and  he  was  eager  to  declare  that  his  sor- 
rows were  scarcely  less  than  her  own.  "No,  Fifine,"  said 
he,  "my  father  is  coming  back  to  demand  satisfaction  of  a 
Government  that  has  wronged  him,  and  treated  him  with  the 
worst  ingratitude.  In  that  Indian  life  men  of  station  wield 
an  almost  boundless  power;  but  if  they  are  irresponsible  as 
to  the  means,  they  are  tested  by  the  results,  and  whenever 
an  adverse  issue  succeeds  tliey  fall  irrevocably.  What  my 
father  may  have  done,  or  have  left  undone,  1  know  not.  I 
have  not  the  vaguest  clew  to  his  present  difficulty,  but,  with 
his  high  spirit  and  his  proud  heart,  that  he  would  resent  the 
very  shadow  of  a  reproof  I  can  answer  for,  and  so  I  believe, 
what  many  tell  me,  that  it  is  a  mere  question  of  personal 
feeling,  —  some  small  matter  in  which  the  Council  have  not 
shown  him  the  deference  he  felt  his  due,  but  which  his 
haughty  nature  would  not  forego." 

Now  these  confidences  were  not  love-making,  nor  any- 
thing approaching  to  it,  and  yet  Josephine  felt  a  strange 
half-pride  in  thinking  that  she  had  been  told  a  secret  which 
Con3'ers  had  never  revealed  to  any  other;  that  to  her  he  had 
poured  forth  the  darkest  sorrow  of  his  heart,  and  actually 
confided  to  her  the  terrors  that  beset  him,  for  he  owned 
that  his  father  was  rash  and  headstrong,  and  if  he  deemed 
himself  wronged  would  be  reckless  in  his  attempt  at 
justification. 

"You  do  not  come  of  a  very  patient  stock,  then,"  said 
she,  smiling. 

"Not  very,  Fifine." 

"Nor  I,"  said  she,  as  her  eyes  flashed  brightly.  "My 
poor  Ayah,  who  died  when  I  was  but  five  years  old,  used  to 
tell  me  such  tales  of  my  father's  proud  spirit  and  the  lofty 
way  he  bore  himself,  so  that  I  often  fancy  I  have  seen  him 


THE   RAMBLE.  297 

and  heard  him  speak.  You  have  heard  he  was  a  Rajah? " 
asked  she,  with  a  touch  of  pride. 

The  3'outh  colored  deeply  as  he  muttered  an  assent,  for  he 
knew  that  she  was  ignorant  of  the  details  of  her  father's 
fate,  and  he  dreaded  any  discussion  of  her  story. 

"And  these  Rajahs,"  resumed  she,  "are  really  great 
princes,  with  power  of  life  and  death,  vast  retinues,  and 
splendid  armies.  To  my  mind,  they  present  a  more  gor- 
geous picture  than  a  small  European  sovereignty  with  some 
vast  Protectorate  looming  over  it.  And  now  it  is  my  uncle," 
said  she,  suddenly,  "who  rules  there." 

"I  have  heard  that  your  own  claims,  Fifine,  are  in  litiga- 
tion," said  he,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Not  as  to  the  sovereignty,"  said  she,  with  a  grave  look, 
half  rebukeful  of  his  levity.  "The  suit  grandpapa  prose- 
cutes in  my  behalf  is  for  my  mother's  jewels  and  her  for- 
tune; a  woman  cannot  reign  in  the  Tannanoohr." 

There  was  a  haughty  defiance  in  her  voice  as  she  spoke, 
that  seemed  to  say,  "This  is  a  theme  I  will  not  suffer  to  be 
treated  lightly,  — beware  how  you  transgress  here." 

"And  yet  it  is  a  dignity  would  become  you  well,"  said  he, 
seriously. 

"It  is  one  I  would  glory  to  possess,"  said  she,  as 
proudly. 

"AVould  you  give  me  a  high  post,  Fifine,  if  you  were  on 
the  throne?  —  would  you  make  me  Commander-in-Chief  of 
your  army?" 

"More  likely  that  I  would  banish  you  from  the  realm," 
said  she,  with  a  haughty  laugh;  "at  least,  until  you  learned 
to  treat  the  head  of  the  state  more  respectfully." 

"Have  I  ever  been  wanting  in  a  proper  deference?  "  said 
he,  bowing,  with  a  mock  humility. 

"If  you  had  been,  sir,  it  is  not  now  that  you  had  first 
heard  of  it,"  said  she,  with  a  proud  look,  and  for  a  few 
seconds  it  seemed  as  though  their  jesting  was  to  have  a 
serious  ending.  She  was,  however,  the  earliest  to  make 
terms,  and  in  atone  of  heart}'  kindliness  said:  "Don't  be 
angry,  Freddy,  and  I  '11  tell  you  a  secret.  If  that  theme  be 
touched  on,  I  lose  my  head:  whether  it  be  in  the  blood  that 
circles  in  my  veins,  or  in  some  early  teachings  that  imbued 


298  BAllRINGTON. 

my  childhood,  or  long  dreaming  over  what  can  never  be,  I 
cannot  tell,  but  it  is  enough  to  speak  of  these  things,  and 
at  once  my  imagination  becomes  exalted  and  my  reason  is 
routed." 

"I  have  no  doubt  your  Ayah  was  to  blame  for  this;  she 
must  have  filled  your  head  with  ambitions,  and  hopes  of  a 
grand  hereafter.  E)ven  I  myself  have  some  experiences  of 
this  sort;  for  as  my  father  held  a  high  post  and  was  sur- 
rounded with  great  state  and  pomp,  I  grew  at  a  very  early 
age  to  believe  myself  a  very  mighty  personage,  and  gave 
my  orders  with  despotic  insolence,  and  suffered  none  to 
gainsay  me." 

"How  silly!"  said  she,  with  a  supercilious  toss  of  her 
head  that  made  Conyers  flush  up ;  and  once  again  was  peace 
endangered  between  them. 

"You  mean  that  what  was  only  a  fair  and  reasonable 
assumption  in  you  was  an  absurd  pretension  in  me,  Miss 
Barrington ;  is  it  not  so  ?  "  asked  he,  in  a  voice  tremulous 
with  passion. 

"  I  mean  that  we  must  both  have  been  very  naughty  chil- 
dren, and  the  less  we  remember  of  that  childhood  the  better 
for  us.  Are  we  friends,  Freddy  ?  "  and  she  held  out  her 
hand. 

"Yes,  if  you  wish  it,"  said  he,  taking  her  hand  half  coldly 
in  his  own. 

"Not  that  way,  sir.  It  is  I  who  have  condescended;  not 
you." 

"As  you  please,  Fifine, — will  this  do?"  and  kneeling 
with  well-assumed  reverence,  he  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"If  my  opinion  were  to  be  asked,  Mr.  Conyers,  I  would 
say  it  would  not  do  at  all,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  coming  sud- 
denly up,  her  cheeks  crimson,  and  her  eyes  flashing. 

"It  was  a  little  comedy  we  were  acting,  Aunt  Dinah," 
said  the  girl,  calmly. 

"I  beg,  then,  that  the  piece  may  not  be  repeated,"  said 
she,  stiffl3^ 

"Considering  how  ill  Freddy  played  his  part,  aunt,  he 
will  scarcely  regret  its  withdrawal." 

Conyers,  however,  could  not  get  over  his  confusion,  and 
looked  perfectly  miserable  for  very  shame. 


THE   RAMBLE.  299 

*'My  brother  has  just  had  a  letter  which  will  call  us  home- 
ward, Mr.  Couyers,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  turning  to  him,  and 
now  using  a  tone  devoid  of  all  irritation.  "Mr.  Withering 
has  obtained  some  information  which  may  turn  out  of  great 
consequence  in  our  suit,  and  he  wishes  to  consult  with  my 
brother  upon  it." 

"I  hope  —  I  sincerely  hope  —  you  do  not  think  —  "  he 
began,  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  do  not  think  anything  to  your  disadvantage,  and  I 
hope  I  never  may,"  replied  she,  in  a  whisper  low  as  his 
own;  "but  bear  in  mind,  Josephine  is  no  finished  coquette 
like  Polly  Dill,  nor  must  she  be  the  mark  of  little  gallan- 
tries, however  harmless.  Josephine,  grandpapa  has  some 
news  for  you;  go  to  him." 

"Poor  Freddy,"  whispered  the  girl  in  the  youth's  ear  as 
she  passed,  "what  a  lecture  you  are  in  for!  " 

"You  mustn't  be  angry  with  me  if  I  play  Duenna  a  little 
harshly,  Mr.  Conyers,"  said  Miss  Dinah;  "and  I  am  far 
more  angry  with  myself  than  you  can  be.  I  never  con- 
curred with  my  brother  that  romance  reading  and  a  young 
dragoon  for  a  companion  were  the  most  suitable  educational 
means  for  a  young  lady  fresh  from  a  convent,  and  I  have 
only  myself  to  blame  for  permitting  it." 

Poor  Conyers  was  so  overwhelmed  that  he  could  say 
nothing;  for  though  he  might,  and  with  a  safe  conscience, 
have  answered  a  direct  charge,  yet  against  a  general  allega- 
tion he  was  powerless.  He  could  not  say  that  he  was  the 
best  possible  companion  for  a  young  lady,  though  he  felt, 
honestly  felt,  that  he  was  not  a  bad  one.  He  had  never 
trifled  with  her  feelings,  nor  sought  to  influence  her  in  his 
favor.  Of  all  flirtation,  such  as  he  would  have  adventured 
with  Polly  Dill,  for  instance,  he  was  guiltless.  He  re- 
spected her  youth  and  ignorance  of  life  too  deeply  to  take 
advantage  of  either.  He  thought,  perhaps,  how  ungenerous 
it  would  have  been  for  a  man  of  the  world  like  himself  to 
entrap  the  affections  of  a  young,  artless  creature,  almost  a 
child  in  her  innocence.  He  was  rather  fond  of  imagining 
himself  "a  man  of  the  world,"  old  soldier,  and  what  not, 
—  a  delusion  which  somehow  very  rarely  befalls  any  but 
very  young  men,  and  of  which  the  experience  of  life  from 


300  BAliUINGTON. 

thirty  to  forty  is  the  sovereign  remedy.  And  so  over- 
whelmed and  confused  and  addled  was  he  with  a  variety  of 
eeusatious,  he  heard  very  little  of  what  Miss  Dinah  said  to 
him,  though  that  worthy  lady  talked  very  fluently  and  very 
well,  concluding  at  last  with  words  which  awoke  Conyers 
from  his  half- trance  with  a  sort  of  shock.  "It  is  for  these 
reasons,  my  dear  Mr.  Conyers,  —  reasons  whose  force  and 
nature  you  will  not  dispute,  —  that  I  am  forced  to  do  what, 
were  the  occasion  less  important,  would  be  a  most  ungenerous 
task.  I  mean,  I  am  forced  to  relinquish  all  the  pleasure  that 
I  had  promised  ourselves  from  seeing  you  our  guest  at  the 
cottage.  If  you  but  knew  the  pain  I  feel  to  speak  these 
words  —  " 

"There  is  no  occasion  to  say  more,  madam,"  said  he; 
for,  unfortunately,  so  unprepared  was  he  for  the  announce- 
ment, its  chief  efifect  was  to  wound  his  pride.  "It  is  the 
second  time  within  a  few  months  destiny  has  stopped  my 
step  on  your  threshold.  It  only  remains  for  me  to  submit 
to  my  fate,  and  not  adventure  upon  an  enterprise  above  my 
means." 

"You  are  offended  with  me,  and  yet  you  ought  not,"  said 
she,  sorrowfully;  "you  ought  to  feel  that  I  am  consulting 
your  interests  fully  as  much  as  ours." 

"I  own,  madam,"  said  he,  coldly,  "I  am  unable  to  take 
the  view  you  have  placed  before  me." 

"Must  I  speak  out,  then?  —  must  I  declare  my  meaning 
in  all  its  matter-of-fact  harshness,  and  say  that  your  family 
and  your  friends  would  have  little  scruple  in  estimating  the 
discretion  which  encouraged  your  intimacy  with  my  niece, 
—  the  son  of  the  distinguished  and  highly  favored  General 
Conyers  with  the  daughter  of  the  ruined  George  Barring- 
ton?     These  are  hard  words  to  say,  but  I  have  said  them." 

"It  is  to  my  father  you  are  unjust  now.  Miss  Barrington." 

"No,  Mr.  Conyers;  there  is  no  injustice  in  believing  that 
a  father  loves  his  son  with  a  love  so  large  that  it  cannot 
exclude  even  worldliness.  There  is  no  injustice  in  believ- 
ing that  a  proud  and  successful  man  would  desire  to  see 
his  son  successful  too ;  and  we  all  know  what  we  call  suc- 
cess. I  see  you  are  very  angry  with  me.  You  think  me 
very   worldly    and   very   small-minded;  perhaps,   too,    you 


THE  RAMBLE.  301 

would  like  to  say  that  all  the  perils  I  talk  of  are  of  my 
own  inventing;  that  Fifine  and  you  could  be  the  best  of 
friends,  and  never  think  of  more  than  friendship ;  and  that 
I  might  spare  my  anxieties,  and  not  fret  for  sorrows  that 
have  no  existence;  —  and  to  all  this  I  would  answer,  I'll 
not  risk  the  chance.  No,  Mr.  Conyers,  1  '11  be  no  party  to 
a  game  where  the  stakes  are  so  unequal.  What  might  give 
you  a  month's  sorrow  might  cost  her  the  misery  of  a  life 
long." 

"I  have  no  choice  left  me.  I  will  go,  —  I  will  go  to-night, 
Miss  Barrington." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better,"  said  she,  gravely,  and 
walked  slowly  away. 

I  will  not  tell  the  reader  what  harsh  and  cruel  things  Con- 
yers said  of  every  one  and  everything,  nor  how  severely  he 
railed  at  the  world  and  its  ways.  Lord  Byron  had  taught 
the  youth  of  that  age  a  very  hearty  and  wholesome  contempt 
for  all  manner  of  conventionalities,  into  which  category  a 
vast  number  of  excellent  customs  were  included,  and  Con- 
yers could  spout  "Manfred"  by  heart,  and  imagine  himself, 
on  very  small  provocation,  almost  as  great  a  man-hater; 
and  so  he  set  off  on  a  long  walk  into  the  forest,  determined 
not  to  appear  at  dinner,  and  equall}'  determined  to  be  the 
cause  of  much  inquiry,  and,  if  possible,  of  some  uneasiness. 
"I  wonder  what  that  old-maid,"  —  alas  for  his  gallantry, 
it  was  so  he  called  her, —  "what  she  would  say  if  her  harsh, 
ungenerous  words  had  driven  me  to  —  "  what  he  did  not  pre- 
cisely define,  though  it  was  doubtless  associated  with  snow 
peaks  and  avalanches,  eternal  solitudes  and  demoniac  pos- 
sessions. It  might,  indeed,  have  been  some  solace  to  him 
had  he  known  how  miserable  and  anxious  old  Peter  became 
at  his  absence,  and  how  incessantly  he  questioned  evei'y 
one  about  him. 

"I  hope  that  no  mishap  has  befallen  that  boy,  Dinah;  he 
was  always  punctual.  I  never  knew  him  stray  away  in  this 
fashion  before." 

"It  would  be  rather  a  severe  durance,  brother  Peter,  if  a 
young  gentleman  could  not  prolong  his  evening  walk  with- 
out permission." 

"What  says  Fifine?     I  suspect  she  agrees  with  me." 


302  BARRINGTON. 

*'If  that  means  that  he  ought  to  be  here,  grandpapa, 
I  do." 

"I  must  read  over  WitLeriug's  letter  again,  brother,"  said 
Miss  Dinah,  by  way  of  changing  the  subject  "He  writes, 
you  say,  from  the  Home?" 

"Yes;  he  was  obliged  to  go  down  there  to  search  for 
some  papers  he  wanted,  and  he  took  Stapylton  with  him ; 
and  he  says  they  had  two  capital  days  at  the  partridges. 
They  bagged, — egad!  I  think  it  was  eight  or  ten  brace 
before  two  o'clock,  the  Captain  or  Major,  I  forget  which, 
being  a  first-rate  shot." 

"What  does  he  say  of  the  place,  —  how  is  it  looking?  " 

"In  perfect  beauty.  Your  deputy,  Polly,  would  seem  to 
have  fulfilled  her  part  admirably.  The  garden  in  prime 
order;  and  that  little  spot  next  your  own  sitting-room,  he 
says,  is  positively  a  better  flower-show  than  one  he  paid  a 
shilling  to  see  in  Dublin.  Polly  herself,  too,  comes  in  for 
a  very  warm  share  of  his  admiration." 

"How  did  he  see  her,  and  where?" 

"At  the  Home.  She  was  there  the  evening  they  arrived, 
and  AVithering  insisted  on  her  presiding  at  the  tea-table  for 
them." 

"It  did  not  require  very  extraordinary  entreaty,  I  will 
make  bold  to  say,  Peter." 

"He  does  not  mention  that;  he  only  speaks  of  her  good 
looks,  and  what  he  calls  her  very  pretty  manners.  In  a 
situation  not  devoid  of  a  certain  awkwardness  he  says  she 
displayed  the  most  perfect  tact;  and  although  doing  the 
honors  of  the  house,  she,  with  some  very  nice  ingenuity, 
insinuated  that  she  was  herself  but  a  visitor." 

"She  could  scarce  have  forgotten  herself  so  far  as  to  think 
anything  else,  Peter,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  bridling  up.  "I 
suspect  her  very  pretty  manners  were  successfully  exercised. 
That  old  gentleman  is  exactly  of  the  age  to  be  fascinated 
by  her." 

"What!  Withering,  Dinah, —do  you  mean  Withering?  " 
cried  he,  laughing. 

"I  do,  brother;  and  I  say  that  he  is  quite  capable  of 
making  her  the  offer  of  his  hand.  Y^ou  may  laugh,  Peter 
Harrington,  but  my  observation  of  young  ladies  has  been 


THE   RAMBLE.  303 

closer  and  finer  than  yours."  And  the  glance  she  gave  at 
Josephine  seemed  to  say  that  her  gun  had  been  double- 
shotted. 

"But  your  remark,  sister  Dinah,  rather  addresses  itself 
to  old  gentlemen  than  to  young  ladies." 

"Who  are  much  the  more  easily  read  of  the  two,"  said 
she,  tartly.  "But  really,  Peter,  1  will  own  that  I  am  more 
deeply  concerned  to  know  what  Mr.  Withering  has  to  say 
of  our  lawsuit  than  about  Polly  Dill's  attractions." 

"He  speaks  very  hopefully,  — very  hopefully,  indeed.  In 
turning  over  George's  papers  some  Hindoo  documents  have 
come  to  light,  which  Stapylton  has  translated,  and  it 
appears  that  there  is  a  certain  Moonshee,  called  Jokeeram, 
who  was,  or  is,  in  the  service  of  Meer  Rustum,  whose  testi- 
mony would  avail  us  much.  Stapylton  inclines  to  think  he 
could  trace  this  man  for  us.  His  own  relations  are  princi- 
pally in  Madras,  but  he  says  he  could  manage  to  institute 
inquiries  in  Bengal." 

"What  is  our  claim  to  this  gentleman's  interest  for  us, 
Peter?" 

"Mere  kindness  on  his  part;  he  never  knew  George, 
except  from  hearsay.  Indeed,  they  could  not  have  been 
contemporaries.  Stapylton  is  not,  I  should  say,  above  five- 
and-thirty." 

"The  search  after  this  creature  with  the  horrid  name  will 
be,  of  course,  costly,  brother  Peter.  It  means,  I  take  it, 
sending  some  one  out  to  India;  that  is  to  say,  sending  one 
fool  after  another.     Are  you  prepared  for  this  expense?" 

"Withering  opines  it  would  be  money  well  spent.  What 
he  says  is  this:  The  Company  will  not  willingly  risk  another 
inquiry  before  Parliament,  and  if  we  show  fight  and  a  firm 
resolve  to  give  the  case  publicity,  they  will  probably  pro- 
pose terms.  This  Moonshee  had  been  in  his  service,  but 
was  dismissed,  and  his  appearance  as  a  witness  on  our  side 
would  occasion  great  uneasiness." 

"You  are  going  to  play  a  game  of  brag,  then,  brother 
Peter,  well  aware  that  the  stronger  purse  is  with  your 
antagonist? " 

"Not  exactly,  Dinah;  not  ex;actly.  We  are  strengthening 
our   position  so  far  that  we  may  say,  '  You  see  our  order 


304  BARRINGTOX. 

of  battle;  would  it  uot  be  as  well  to  make  peace?  '  Listen 
to  what  Witheriug  says."  And  Peter  opened  a  letter  of 
several  sheets,  aud  sought  out  the  place  he  wanted. 

"Here  it  is,  Dinah.  '  From  one  of  those  Hindoo  papers 
we  learn  that  Kam  Shamsoolah  Sing  was  not  at  the  Meer's 
residence  during  the  feast  of  the  Khamadan,  and  could  not 
possibly  have  signed  the  document  to  which  his  name  aud 
seal  are  appended.  Jokeeram,  who  was  himself  the  Moon- 
shee  interpreter  in  Luckerabad,  writes  to  his  friend  Cossieu 
Aga,  and  says  —  '  " 

"Brother  Peter,  this  is  like  the  Arabian  Nights  in  all 
but  the  entertainment  to  me,  and  the  jumble  of  these  abom- 
inable names  only  drives  me  mad.  If  you  flatter  yourself 
that  you  can  understand  one  particle  of  the  matter,  it  must 
be  that  age  has  sharpened  your  faculties,  that's  all." 

"I'm  not  quite  sure  of  that,  Dinah,"  said  he,  laughing. 
"I  'm  half  disposed  to  believe  that  years  are  not  more  mer- 
ciful to  our  brains  than  to  our  ankles ;  but  I  '11  go  and  take 
a  stroll  in  the  shady  alleys  under  the  linden-trees,  and  who 
knows  how  bright  it  will  make  me!  " 

"Am  I  to  go  with  you,  grandpapa?"  said  the  young  girl, 
rising. 

"No,  Fifine;  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  here,"  said 
Miss  Dinah;  and  there  was  a  significance  in  the  tone  that 
was  anything  but  reassuring. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

UNDER    THE     LIXDEN. 

That  shady  alley  under  the  linden-trees  was  a  very  favorite 
walk  with  Peter  Barrington.  It  was  a  nice  cool  lane,  with 
a  brawling  little  rivulet  close  beside  it,  with  here  and  there  a 
dark  silent  pool  for  the  dragon-fly  to  skim  over  and  see  his 
bronzed  wings  reflected  in  the  still  water ;  and  there  was  a 
rustic  bench  or  two,  where  Peter  used  to  sit  and  fancy  he 
was  meditating,  while,  in  reality,  he  was  only  watctyng  a 
speckled  lizard  in  the  grass,  or  listening  to  the  mellow  black- 
bii'd  over  his  head.  I  have  had  occasion  once  before  to  re- 
mark on  the  resources  of  the  man  of  imagination,  but  I 
really  suspect  that  for  the  true  luxury  of  idleness  there  is 
nothing  like  the  temperament  devoid  of  fancy.  There  is  a 
grand  breadth  about  those  quiet,  peaceful  minds  over  which 
no  shadows  flit,  and  which  can  find  sufficient  occupation 
through  the  senses,  and  never  have  to  go  "  within"  for  their 
resources.  These  men  can  sit  the  livelong  day  and  watch 
the  tide  break  over  a  rock,  or  see  the  sparrow  teach  her 
young  to  fly,  or  gaze  on  the  bee  as  he  dives  into  the  deep 
cup  of  the  foxglove,  and  actually  need  no  more  to  fill  the 
hours.  For  them  there  is  no  memory  with  its  dark  bygones, 
there  is  no  looming  future  with  its  possible  misfortunes; 
there  is  simply  a  half-sleepy  present,  with  soft  sounds  and 
sweet  odors  through  it,  —  a  balmy  kind  of  stupor,  from 
which  the  awaking  comes  without  a  shock. 

When  Barrington  reached  his  favorite  seat,  and  hghted 
his  cigar,  —  it  is  painting  the  lily  for  such  men  to  smoke,  — 
he  intended  to  have  thought  over  the  details  of  Withering's 
letter,  which  were  both  curious  and  interesting ;  he  intended 
to  consider  attentively  certain  points  which,  as  Withering 
VOL.  I.  —  20 


306  BARRIXGTON. 

said,  "  he  must  master  before  he  could  adopt  a  final  re- 
solve ;  "  but  they  were  knotty  points,  made  knottier,  too,  by 
hard  Hindoo  words  for  things  unknown,  and  names  totally 
unpronounceable.  He  used  to  think  that  he  understood 
"George's  claim"  pretty  well;  he  had  fancied  it  was  a 
clear  and  very  intelligible  case,  that  half  a  dozen  honest 
men  might  have  come  to  a  decision  on  in  an  hour's 
time ;  but  now  he  began  to  have  a  glimmering  perception 
that  George  must  have  been  egregiously  duped  and  basely 
betrayed,  and  that  the  Company  were  not  altogether  un- 
reasonable in  assuming  their  distrust  of  him.  Now,  all 
these  considerations  coming  down  upon  him  at  once  were 
overwhelming,  and  they  almost  stunned  him.  Even  his  late 
attempt  to  enlighten  his  sister  Dinah  on  a  matter  he  so  im- 
perfectly understood  now  recoiled  upon  him,  and  added  to 
his  own  mystification. 

"  AVell,  well,"  muttered  he,  at  last,  "  I  hope  Tom  sees  his 
way  through  it,"  —  Tom  was  Withering,  —  "  and  if  lie  does, 
there's  no  need  of  my  bothering  my  head  about  it.  What 
use  w^ould  there  be  in  lawyers  if  they  hadn't  got  faculties 
sharper  than  other  folk?  and  as  to  'making  up  my  mind,' 
my  mind  is  made  up  already,  that  I  want  to  win  the  cause  if 
he'll  only  show  me  how."  From  these  musings  he  was 
drawn  off  by  watching  a  large  pike,  —  the  largest  pike,  he 
thought,  he  had  ever  seen,  —  which  would  from  time  to  time 
dart  out  from  beneath  a  bank,  and  after  lying  motionless  in 
the  middle  of  the  pool  for  a  minute  or  so,  would,  with  one 
whisk  of  its  tail,  skim  back  again  to  its  hiding-place.  "  That 
fellow  has  instincts  of  its  own  to  warn  him,"  thought  he ; 
"he  knows  he  wasn't  safe  out  there.  He  sees  some  peril 
that  I  cannot  see ;  and  that  ought  to  be  the  way  with  Tom, 
for,  after  all,  the  lawyers  are  just  pikes,  neither  more  nor 
less."  At  this  instant  a  man  leaped  across  the  stream,  and 
hurriedly  passed  into  the  copse.  "What!  Mr.  Conyers — 
Conyers,  is  that  you?"  cried  Barrington ;  and  the  young 
man  turned  and  came  towards  him.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
all  safe  and  sound  again,"  said  Peter;  "we  waited  dinner 
half  an  hour  for  you,  and  have  passed  all  the  time  since  in 
conjecturing  what  might  have  befallen  you." 

"  Did  n't  Miss  Barrington  say  —  did  not  Miss  Barrington 


UNDER  THE   LINDEN.  307 

know  — "  He  stopped  in  deep  confusion,  and  could  not 
finish  his  speech. 

"  My  sister  knew  nothing,  ---at  least,  she  did  not  tell  me 
any  reason  for  your  absence." 

"  No,  not  for  my  absence,"  began  he  once  more,  in  the 
same  embarrassment;  "but  as  I  had  explained  to  her  that 
I  was  obliged  to  leave  this  suddenly,  —  to  start  this 
evening  —  " 

"  To  start  this  evening !  and  whither?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell ;  I  don't  know,  —  that  is,  I  have  no 
plans." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  the  old  man,  affectionately,  as  he 
laid  his  hand  on  the  other's  arm,  "  if  you  don't  know  where 
you  are  going,  take  my  word  for  it  there  is  no  such  great 
necessity  to  go." 

"  Yes,  but  there  is,"  replied  he,  quickly;  "  at  least  Miss 
Barrington  thinks  so,  and  at  the  time  we  spoke  together  she 
made  me  believe  she  was  in  the  right." 

"  And  are  you  of  the  same  opinion  now?"  asked  Peter, 
with  a  humorous  drollery  in  his  eye. 

"I  am,  —  that  is,  I  was  a  few  moments  back.  I  mean, 
that  whenever  I  recall  the  words  she  spoke  to  me,  I  feel 
their  full  conviction." 

"Come,  now,  sit  down  here  beside  me!  It  can  scarcely 
be  anything  I  may  not  be  a  party  to.  Just  let  me  hear  the 
case  like  a  judge  in  chamber  "  —  and  he  smiled  at  an  illus- 
tration that  recalled  his  favorite  passion,  "  I  won't  pretend 
to  say  my  sister  has  not  a  wiser  head  —  as  I  well  know  she 
has  a  far  better  heart  —  than  myself,  but  now  and  then  she 
lets  a  prejudice  or  a  caprice  or  even  a  mere  apprehension 
run  away  with  her,  and  it 's  just  possible  it  is  some  whim  of 
this  kind  is  now  uppermost." 

Conyers  only  shook  his  head  dissentingly,  and  said 
nothing. 

"Maybe  I  guess  it, — I  suspect  that  I  guess  it,"  said 
Peter,  with  a  sly  drollery  about  his  mouth.  "  My  sister 
has  a  notion  that  a  young  man  and  a  young  woman  ought 
no  more  to  be  in  propinquity  than  saltpetre  and  charcoal. 
She  has  been  giving  me  a  lecture  on  my  blindness,  and  ask- 
ing if  I  can't  see  this,  that,  and  the  other;  but,  besides 


308  BAKRINGTON. 

being  the  least  obsen'aut  of  ruaukiud,  I  'm  one  of  the  most 
hopeful  as  regards  whatever  1  wish  to  be.  Now  we  have  all 
of  us  goue  ou  so  pleasantly  together,  with  such  a  thorough 
good  understanding  —  such  loyalty,  as  the  French  would 
call  it — that  I  can't,  for  the  life  of  me,  detect  any  ground 
for  mistrust  or  dread.  Haven't  I  hit  the  blot,  Couyers  — 
eh  ?  "  cried  he,  as  the  young  fellow  grew  redder  and  redder, 
till  his  face  became  crimson. 

"I  assured  Miss  Barrington,"  began  he,  in  a  faltering, 
broken  voice,  "  that  I  set  too  much  store  on  the  generous 
confidence  3'ou  extended  to  me  to  abuse  it ;  that,  received  as 
I  was,  like  one  of  your  own  blood  and  kindred,  I  never 
could  forget  the  frank  trustfulness  with  which  3'ou  discussed 
everything  before  me,  and  made  me,  so  to  say,  '  One  of 
you.'  The  moment,  however,  that  my  intimacy  suggested  a 
sense  of  constraint,  I  felt  the  whole  charm  of  my  privilege 
would  have  departed,  and  it  is  for  this  reason  I  am  going !  " 
The  last  word  was  closed  with  a  deep  sigh,  and  he  turned 
away  his  head  as  he  concluded. 

"And  for  this  reason  you  shall  not  go  one  step,"  said 
Peter,  slapping  him  cordially  on  the  shoulder.  "  I  verily 
believe  that  women  think  the  world  was  made  for  nothing 
but  love-making,  just  as  the  crack  engineer  believed  rivers 
were  intended  by  Providence  to  feed  navigable  canals ;  but 
you  and  I  know  a  little  better,  not  to  say  that  a  young  fellow 
with  the  stamp  gentleman  indelibly  marked  on  his  forehead 
would  not  think  of  making  a  young  girl  fresh  from  a  convent 
—  a  mere  child  in  the  ways  of  life  —  the  mark  of  his 
attentions.     Am  I  not  right?  " 

"  I  hope  and  believe  you  are  !  " 

"Stay  where  j^ou  are,  then;  be  happy,  and  help  us  to 
feel  so;  and  the  onlj^  pledge  I  ask  is,  that  whenever  you 
suspect  Dinah  to  be  a  shrewder  observer  and  a  truer  prophet 
than  her  brother  —  you  understand  me — you'll  just  come 
and  say,  '  Peter  Barrington,  I  'm  off ;  good-b3'e  ! '  " 

"  There's  my  hand  on  it,"  said  he,  grasping  the  old  man's 
with  warmth.  "  There 's  only  one  point —  I  have  told  Miss 
Barrington  that  I  would  start  this  evening." 

"  She'll  scarcely  hold  3^ou  very  closely  to  your  pledge." 

"  But,  as  I  understand  her,  you  are  going  back  to 
Ireland?" 


UNDER  THE  LINDEN.  309 

"  And  you  are  coming  along  with  us.  Is  n't  that  a  very 
simple  arrangement  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  would  be  a  very  pleasant  one." 

"  It  shall  be,  if  it  depend  on  me.  I  want  to  make  you  a 
fisherman  too.  When  I  Avas  a  young  man,  it  was  my 
passion  to  make  every  one  a  good  horseman.  If  I  liked  a 
fellow,  and  found  out  that  he  could  n't  ride  to  hounds,  it 
gave  me  a  shock  little  short  of  hearing  that  there  was  a  blot 
on  his  character,  so  associated  in  my  mind  had  become  per- 
sonal dash  and  prowess  in  the  field  with  every  bold  and 
manly  characteristic.  As  I  grew  older,  and  the  rod  usurped 
the  place  of  the  hunting-whip,  I  grew  to  fancy  that  your 
angler  would  be  the  truest  type  of  a  companion  ;  and  if  you 
but  knew,"  added  he,  as  a  glassy  fulness  dulled  his  eyes, 
"  what  a  flattery  it  is  to  an  old  fellow  when  a  young  one  will 
make  a  comrade  of  him,  — what  a  smack  of  bygone  days  it 
brings  up,  and  what  sunshine  it  lets  in  on  the  heart,  —  take 
my  word  for  it,  you  3'Oung  fellows  are  never  so  vain  of  an 
old  companion  as  we  are  of  a  young  one !  What  are  you  so 
thoughtful  about?" 

"  I  was  thinking  how  I  was  to  make  this  explanation  to 
Miss  Harrington." 

"  You  need  not  make  it  at  all ;  leave  the  whole  case  in  my 
hands.  My  sister  knows  that  I  owe  you  an  amende  and  a 
heavy  one.  Let  this  go  towards  a  part  payment  of  it.  But 
here  she  comes  in  search  of  me.  Step  away  quietly,  and 
when  we  meet  at  the  tea-table  all  will  have  been  settled." 

Conyers  had  but  time  to  make  his  escape,  when  Miss 
Barrington  came  up. 

"  I  thought  I  should  find  you  mooning  down  here,  Peter," 
said  she,  sharply.  "  Whenever  there  is  anything  to  be  done 
or  decided  on,  a  Barrington  is  always  watching  a  fly  on  a 
fish-pond." 

"  Not  the  women  of  the  family,  Dinah,  — not  the  women. 
But  what  great  emergency  is  before  us  now?" 

"  No  great  emergency,  as  you  phrase  it,  at  all,  but  what  to 
men  like  yourself  is  frequently  just  as  trying,  —  an  occasion 
that  requires  a  little  tact.  I  have  discovered  —  what  I  long 
anticipated  has  come  to  pass. —  Conyers  and  Fifine  are  on 
very  close   terms   of   intimacy,  which   might   soon  become 


310  BARRINGTOX. 

attachment.  I  have  charged  him  with  it,  and  he  has  not 
altogether  denied  it.  On  the  whole  he  has  behaved  well,  and 
he  goes  away  to-night." 

"I  have  just  seen  him,  Dinah.  I  got  at  his  secret,  not 
without  a  little  dexterity  on  my  part,  and  learned  what  had 
passed  between  you.  "We  talked  the  thing  over  very  calmly 
together,  and  the  upshot  is — he's  not  going." 

"  Not  going !  not  going !  after  the  solemn  assurance  he 
gave  me !  " 

"But  of  which  I  absolved  him,  sister  Dinah;  or  rather, 
which  I  made  him  retract." 

"Peter  Barrington,  stop!  "  cried  she,  holding  her  hands 
to  her  temples.  "  I  want  a  little  time  to  recover  myself.  I 
must  have  time,  or  I'll  not  answer  for  my  senses.  Just 
reply  to  one  question.  I  "11  ask  you,  have  you  taken  an  oath 
—  are  you  under  a  vow  to  be  the  ruin  of  your  family  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  have,  Dinah.  I  'm  doing  everything  for 
the  best." 

"  If  there  *s  a  phrase  in  the  language  condemns  the  person 
that  uses  it,  it's  'Doing  everything  for  the  best.'  What 
does  it  mean  but  a  blind,  uninquiring,  inconsiderate  act,  the 
work  of  a  poor  brain  and  sickly  conscience?  Don't  talk  to 
me,  sir,  of  doing  for  the  best,  but  do  the  best,  the  very  best, 
according  to  the  lights  that  guide  you.  You  know  well, 
perfectly  well,  that  Fifine  has  no  fortune,  and  that  this 
young  man  belongs  to  a  very  rich  and  a  very  ambitious 
family,  and  that  to  encourage  what  might  lead  to  attachment 
between  them  would  be  to  store  up  a  cruel  wrong  and  a  great 
disappointment." 

"  My  dear  Dinah,  you  speak  like  a  book,  but  I  don't 
agree  with  you." 

"  You  don't.     Will  you  please  to  state  why?  '* 

"In  the  first  place,  Dinah,  forgive  me  for  saying  it,  but 
we  men  do  not  take  your  view  of  these  cases.  "We  neither 
think  that  love  is  as  catching  or  as  dangerous  as  the  small- 
pox. "We  imagine  that  two  young  people  can  associate 
together  every  day  and  yet  never  contract  a  lien  that  might 
break  their  hearts  to  dissolve." 

"Talking  politics  together,  perhaps;  or  the  state  of  the 
Three  per  Cents?" 


UNDER  THE  LINDEN.  311 

"  Not  exactly  that,  but  talking  of  fifty  other  things  that 
interest  their  time  of  life  and  tempers.  Have  they  not 
songs,  drawings,  flowers,  landscapes,  and  books,  with  all 
their  thousand  incidents,  to  discuss?  Just  remember  what 
that  writer  who  calls  himself  '  Author  of  AVaverley  '  —  what 
he  alone  has  given  us  of  people  to  talk  over  just  as  if  we 
knew  them." 

"Brother  Peter,  I  have  no  patience  with  you.  You 
enumerate  one  by  one  all  the  ingredients,  and  you  disparage 
the  total.  You  tell  of  the  flour,  and  the  plums,  and  the 
suet,  and  the  candied  lemon,  but  you  cry  out  against  the 
pudding !  Don't  you  see  that  the  very  themes  you  leave  for 
them  all  conduce  to  what  you  ignore,  and  that  your  music 
and  painting  and  romance-reading  only  lead  to  love-mak- 
ing? Don't  you  see  this,  or  are  you  in  reality  —  I  didn't 
want  to  say  it,  but  you  have  made  me  —  are  you  an  old 
fool?" 

"  I  hope  not,  Dinah;  but  I'm  not  so  sure  you  don't  think 
me  one." 

"It's  nothing  to  the  purpose  whether  I  do  or  not,"  said 
she;  "the  question  is,  have  you  asked  this  young  man  to 
come  back  with  us  to  Ireland  ?  " 

"  I  have,  and  he  is  coming." 

"  I  could  have  sworn  to  it,"  said  she,  with  a  sudden 
energy ;  "  and  if  there  was  anything  more  stupid,  you  'd 
have  done  it  also."  And  with  this  speech,  more  remarkable 
for  its  vigor  than  its  politeness,  she  turned  away  and  left 
him. 

Ere  I  close  the  chapter  and  the  subject,  let  me  glance, 
and  only  glance,  at  the  room  where  Conyers  is  now  stand- 
ing beside  Josephine.  She  is  drawing,  not  very  attentively 
or  carefully,  perhaps,  and  he  is  bending  over  her  and  relat- 
ing, as  it  seems,  something  that  has  occurred  to  him,  and 
has  come  to  the  end  with  the  words,  "  And  though  I  was  to 
have  gone  this  evening,  it  turns  out  that  now  I  am  to  stay 
and  accompany  you  to  Ireland." 

"  Don't  sigh  so  painfully  over  it,  however,"  said  she, 
gravely ;  "  for  when  you  come  to  mention  how  distressing  it 
is,  I  'm  sure  they  '11  let  you  off."  . 

"  Fifine,"  said  he,  reproachfully,  "is  this  fair,  is  this 
generous?" 


312  BARRINGTON. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it  be  unfair,  I  don't  want  it  to  be 
generous,"  said  she,  boldly. 

"In  point  of  fact,  then,  you  only  wish  for  me  here  to 
quarrel  with,  is  tliat  the  truth?" 

"  I  think  it  better  fun  disagreeing  with  you  than  always 
saying  how  accurate  you  are,  and  how  wise,  and  how  well- 
judging.  That  atmosphere  of  eternal  agreement  chokes 
me ;  I  feel  as  if  I  were  suffocating." 

"It's  not  a  very  happy  temperament;  it's  not  a  disposi- 
tion to  boast  of." 

"You  never  did  hear  me  boast  of  it;  but  I  have  heard 
you  very  vainglorious  about  your  easy  temper  and  your 
facile  nature,  which  were  simply  indolence.  Now,  I  have 
had  more  than  enough  of  that  in  the  convent,  and  I  long  for 
a  little  activity." 

"  Even  if  it  were  hazardous?  " 

"Even  if  it  were  hazardous,"  echoed  she.  "But  here 
comes  Aunt  Dinah,  with  a  face  as  stern  as  one  of  the 
sisters,  and  an  ej^e  that  reminds  me  of  penance  and  bread 
and  water ;  so  help  me  to  put  up  my  drawings,  and  say 
nothing  of  what  we  were  talking." 

"My  brother  has  just  told  me,  Mr.  Conyers,"  said  she,  in 
a  whisper,  "  a  piece  of  news  which  it  only  depends  upon 
you  to  make  a  most  agreeable  arrangement." 

"  I  trust  you  may  count  upon  me,  madam,"  said  be,  in 
the  same  tone,  and  bowed  low  as  he  spoke. 

"Then  come  with  me  and  let  us  talk  it  over,"  said  she, 
as  she  took  his  arm  and  led  him  away. 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


CONTENTS. 


Chaptkb  Page 

I.  FiFixE  AND  Polly i 

n.  At  Home  agaix 12 

m.  A  Small  Dinxer-Party 22 

rV.  A  Move  lm  Advance 35 

V.  A  Cabinet  Council 44 

VI.  An  Express 51 

VII.  Cross-Examinings 59 

VIIL  General  Conyers 67 

IX.  Major  M'Cormick's  Letter 77 

X.  Interchanged  Confessions 89 

XI.  Stapylton's  Visit  at  "The  Home"    ....  96 
XII.  A  Doctor  and  his  Patient 108 

XIII.  Cross-Purposes 116 

XIV.  Storms 129 

XV.  The  Old  Leaven 143 

XVI.  A  Happy  Meeting 152 

XVn.  Meet  Companionship 161 

XVIII.  Aunt  Dorothea 169 

XIX.  Correspondence 174 

XX.  The  End 188 


Vi  CUJSTENTS. 

TALES   OF   THE   TRAINS. 

Page 

The  Coup^  of  the  North  Midland 205 

The  White  Lace  Bonnet 223 

Fast  Asleep  and  Wide  Awake 243 

The  Road  versus  the  Rail 268 

The  Tunnel  of  Trubau 283 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 
Volume  Two. 


2Etd)ings. 

♦ 

PAas 

Miss  Dinah's  Indignation 66 

Iillustratfons  in  tfje  Etxt. 

The  Consultation 109 

The  Ma.tor  is  all  "Attention" 127 

Meet  Companions 163 


BARRINGTON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FIFINE    AND    POLLY. 

There  are  a  few  days  in  our  autumnal  season  —  very  few 
and  rare !  —  when  we  draw  the  curtain  against  the  glare  of 
the  sun  at  breakfast,  and  yet  in  the  evening  are  glad  to 
gather  around  the  cheerful  glow  of  the  fire.  These  are  days 
of  varied  skies,  with  fleecy  clouds  lying  low  beneath  a  broad 
expanse  of  blue,  with  massive  shadows  on  the  mountains, 
and  here  and  there  over  the  landscape  tips  of  sunlight  that 
make  the  meanest  objects  pictures ;  and,  with  all  these, 
a  breezy  wind  that  scatters  the  yellow  leaves  and  shakes  the 
tree-tops,  while  it  curls  the  current  of  the  bright  river  into 
mimic  waves.  The  sportsman  will  tell  you  that  on  such  days 
the  birds  are  somewhat  wild,  and  the  angler  will  vow  that  no 
fish  will  rise  to  the  fly,  nor  is  it  a  scent-lying  day  for  the 
harriers ;  and  yet,  with  all  this,  there  is  a  spring  and  elas- 
ticity in  the  air  that  impart  themselves  to  the  temperament, 
so  that  the  active  grow  energetic,  and  even  the  indolent  feel 
no  touch  of  lassitude. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  such  a  day  that  Barrington,  with 
his  sister  and  granddaughter,  drew  nigh  the  Home.  Conyers 
had  parted  with  them  at  Dublin,  where  his  regiment  was  now 
stationed,  but  was  to  follow  in  a  day  or  two.  All  the  de- 
scriptions —  descriptions  which  had  taken  the  shape  of  warn- 
ings —  which  they  had  given  .Josephine  of  the  cottage  could 
not  prevent  her  asking  at  each  turn  of  the  road  if  that  large 
house  yonder,  if  that  sombre  tower  over  the  trees,  if  that 

VOL.   II. —  1 


BAKRINGTON. 


massive  gate-lodge  were  not  theirs.  "I  know  this  is  it, 
grandpapa,"'  said  she,  clapping  her  bauds  with  delight  as  they 
came  opposite  a  low  wall  within  which  lay  the  spacious  lawn 
of  Cobham  Park,  a  portion  of  the  bouse  itself  being  just 
visible  through  the  trees;  "  dou't  tell  me,  auut,"  cried  she, 
"  but  let  me  guess  it." 

''It  is  the  seat  of  Sir  Charles  Cobham,  child,  one  of  the 
richest  baronets  in  the  kingdom." 

"  There  it  is  at  last,  —  there  it  is  !  "  cried  she,  straining  out 
of  the  carriage  to  see  the  handsome  portico  of  a  very  large 
building,  to  which  a  straight  avenue  of  oaks  led  up  from  the 
bigh-road.     '•  My  heart  tells  me,  auut,  that  this  is  ours !  " 

"  It  was  once  on  a  time,  Fifine,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a 
quivering  voice,  and  a  glassy  film  over  his  eyes;  "it  was 
once,  but  it  is  so  no  longer." 

"Barringtou  Hall  has  long  ceased  to  belong  to  us,"  said 
Miss  Dinah;  "and  after  all  the  pains  I  have  taken  in 
description,  I  cannot  see  bow  you  could  possibly  coufouud  it 
with  our  little  cottage." 

The  young  girl  sat  back  without  a  word,  and,  whether  from 
disappointment  or  the  rebuke,  looked  forth  no  more. 

"  We  are  drawing  very  near  now,  Fifine,"  said  the  old 
man,  after  a  long  silence,  which  lasted  fully  two  miles  of  the 
■way.  "Where  you  see  tbe  tall  larches  yonder  —  not  there 
—  lower  down,  at  the  bend  of  the  stream;  tbose  are  tbe 
trees.  I  declare,  Dinab,  I  fancy  they  have  grown  since  we 
saw  them  last." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  do,  Peter;  not  that  you  will  find 
tbe  cottage  far  more  commodious  and  comfortable  than  you 
remembered  it." 

"Ah,  they've  repaired  tbat  stile,  I  see,"  cried  be;  "  and 
very  well  they've  done  it,  without  cutting  away  the  ivy. 
Here  we  are,  darling ;  here  we  are !  "  and  be  grasped  tbe 
young  girl's  band  in  one  of  bis,  wbile  be  drew  tbe  other 
across  his  eyes. 

"  They 'renot  very  attentive,  I  must  say,  brother  Peter,  or 
they  would  not  leave  us  standing,  with  our  own  gate  locked 
against  us." 

"I  see  Darby  running  as  fast  as  be  can.  Here  he 
comes !  " 


FIFINE   AND  POLLY.  3 

"Ob,  by  the  powers,  ye 're  welcome  home,  your  honor's 
reverence,  and  the  mistresses !  "  cried  Darby,  as  he  fumbled 
at  the  lock,  and  then  failing  in  all  his  efforts,  —  not  very 
wonderful,  seeing  that  he  had  taken  a  wrong  key,  — he  seized 
a  huge  stone,  and,  smashing  the  padlock  at  a  blow,  threw 
wide  the  gate  to  admit  them. 

"You  are  initiated  at  once  into  our  Irish  ways,  Fifine," 
said  Miss  Barrington.  "All  that  you  will  see  here  is  in  the 
same  style.  Let  that  be  repaired  this  evening,  sir,  and  at 
your  own  cost,"  whispered  she  to  Darby,  into  whose  hand  at 
the  same  moment  Peter  was  pressing  a  crown  piece. 

"'Tis  the  light  of  my  eyes  to  see  your  honors  home 
again!  'Tis  like  rain  to  the  new  potatoes  what  I  feel  in 
my  heart,  and  looking  so  fresh  and  well  too!  And  the 
young  lady,  she  isn't  —  " 

From  what  dread  anticipation  Darby's  sudden  halt  saved 
him  the  expression  is  not  for  me  to  say,  but  that  Peter  Bar- 
rington guessed  it  is  probable,  for  be  lay  back  in  the  carriage 
and  shook  with  laughter. 

"Drive  on,  sir,"  said  Miss  Dinah  to  the  postilion,  ''and 
pull  up  at  the  stone  cross." 

"You  can  drive  to  the  door  now,  ma'am,"  said  Darby, 
"the  whole  way;  Miss  Polly  had  the  road  made  while  you 
were  awa3\" 

"What  a  clever  girl!  Who  could  have  thought  it?"  said 
Barrington. 

"I  opine  that  we  might  have  been  consulted  as  to  the 
change.  On  a  matter  as  important  as  this,  Peter,  I  think 
our  voices  might  have  been  asked." 

"And  how  well  she  has  done  it  too!  "  muttered  he,  half 
aloud;  "never  touched  one  of  those  copper  beeches,  and 
given  us  a  peep  of  the  bright  river  through  the  meadows." 

As  the  carriage  rolled  briskly  along.  Darby,  who  trotted 
alongside,  kept  up  a  current  narrative  of  the  changes  effected 
during  their  absence. 

"The  ould  pigeon-bouse  is  tuck  down,  and  an  iligant 
new  one  put  up  in  the  island;  and  the  calves'  paddock  is 
thrown  into  the  flower-garden,  and  there  's  a  beautiful  flight 
of  steps  down  to  the  river,  paved  with  white  stones,  —  sor- 
row one  isn't  white  as  snow." 


4  BAKlilNGTON. 

"It  is  a  mercy  we  had  not  a  sign  over  the  door,  brother 
Peter,"  whispered  Miss  Dinah,  ''or  this  young  lady's  zeal 
would  have  had  it  emblazoned  like  a  shield  in  heraldry." 

"Oh,  how  lovely,  how  beautiful,  how  exquisite!"  cried 
Josephine,  as  they  came  suddenly  round  the  angle  of  a  copse 
and  directly  in  front  of  the  cottage. 

Nor  was  the  praise  exaggerated.  It  was  all  that  she  had 
said.  Over  a  light  trellis-work,  carried  along  under  the 
thatch,  the  roses  and  jessamine  blended  with  the  clematis 
and  the  passion-flower,  forming  a  deep  eave  of  flowers, 
di-ooping  in  heavy  festoons  across  the  spaces  between  the 
windows,  and  meeting  the  geraniums  which  grew  below. 
Through  the  open  sashes  the  rooms  might  be  seen,  looking 
more  like  beautiful  bowers  than  the  chambers  of  a  dwelling- 
house.  And  over  all,  in  sombre  grandeur,  bent  the  great 
ilex-trees,  throwing  their  grand  and  tranquil  shade  over  the 
cottage  and  the  little  grass-plot  and  even  the  river  itself,  as 
it  swept  smoothly  by.  There  was  in  the  stillness  of  that 
perfumed  air,  loaded  with  the  sweet-brier  and  the  rose,  a 
something  of  calm  and  tranquillity;  while  in  the  isolation 
of  the  spot  there  was  a  sense  of  security  that  seemed  to  fill 
up  the  measure  of  the  young  girl's  hopes,  and  made  her 
exclaim  with  rapture,  "Oh,  this,  indeed,  is  beautiful!  " 

"Yes,  my  darling  P'ifine!  "  said  the  old  man,  as  he  pressed 
her  to  his  heart;  "your  home,  your  own  home!  I  told  you, 
my  dear  child,  it  was  not  a  great  castle,  no  fine  chateau, 
like  those  on  the  Meuse  and  the  Sambre,  but  a  lowly 
cottage  with  a  thatched  roof  and  a  rustic  porch." 

"In  all  this  ardor  for  decoration  and  smartness,"  broke 
in  Miss  Dinah,  "it  would  not  surprise  me  to  find  that  the 
peacock's  tail  had  been  picked  out  in  fresh  colors  and 
varnished." 

"Faix!  your  honor  is  not  far  wrong,"  interposed  Darb}^ 
who  had  an  Irish  tendency  to  side  with  the  majority.  "  She 
made  us  curry  and  wash  ould  Sheela,  the  ass,  as  if  she  was 
a  race-horse." 

"I  hope  poor  Wowsky  escaped,"  said  Barrington,  laugh- 
ing. 

"That's  what  he  didn't!  He  has  to  be  scrubbed  with 
soap  and  water  every  morning,  and  his  hair  divided  all  the 


FIFINE  AND   POLLY.  6 

way  down  his  back,  like  a  Christian's,  and  his  tail  looks 
like  a  bunch  of  switch  grass." 

"That 's  the  reason  he  has  n't  come  out  to  meet  me;  the 
poor  fellow  is  like  his  betters,  —  he 's  not  quite  sure  that  his 
altered  condition  improves  him." 

"You  have  at  least  one  satisfaction,  brother  Peter,"  said' 
Hiss  Dinah,  sharply;  "3'ou  find  Darby  just  as  dirty  and 
uncared  for  as  you  left  him." 

"By  my  conscience,  there  's  another  of  us  is  n't  much 
changed  since  we  met  last,"  muttered  Darby,  but  in  a 
voice  only  audible  to  himself. 

"Oh,  what  a  sweet  cottage!  What  a  pretty  summer- 
house!"  cried  Josephine,  as  the  carriage  swept  round  the 
copse,  and  drew  short  up  at  the  door. 

"This  summer-house  is  your  home,  Fifine,"  said  Miss 
Barrington,  tartly. 

"Home!  home!  Do  you  mean  that  we  live  here, — live 
here  always,  aunt?" 

"Most  distinctly  I  do,"  said  she,  descending  and  address- 
ing herself  to  other  cares.  "Where's  Jane?  Take  these 
trunks  round  by  the  back  door.  Carry  this  box  to  the 
green-room,  — to  Miss  Josephine's  room,"  said  she,  with  a 
stronger  stress  on  the  words. 

"Well,  darling,  it  is  a  very  humble,  it  is  a  very  lowly," 
said  Barrington,  "but  let  us  see  if  we  cannot  make  it  a  very 
happy  home ;  "  but  as  he  turned  to  embrace  her,  she  was 
gone. 

"I  told  you  so,  brother  Peter,  — I  told  you  so,  more  than 
once;  but,  of  course,  you  have  your  usual  answer,  '  We  must 
do  the  best  we  can ! '  which  simply  means,  doing  worse  than 
we  need  do." 

Barrington  was  in  no  mood  for  a  discussion ;  he  was  too 
happy  to  be  once  more  at  home  to  be  ruffled  by  any  provoca- 
tion his  sister  could  give  him.  Wherever  he  turned,  some 
old  familiar  object  met  his  eye  and  seemed  to  greet  him,  and 
he  bustled  in  and  out  from  his  little  study  to  the  garden, 
and  then  to  the  stable,  where  he  patted  old  Roger;  and 
across  to  the  cow-house,  whei-e  Maggie  knew  him,  and  bent 
her  great  lazy  eyes  softly  on  him;  and  then  down  to  the 
liver-side,  where,  in  gilt  letters,  "Josephine"  shone  on  the 


6  BARRINGTON. 

trim  row-boat  he  had  last  seen  half  rotten  on  the  bank;  for 
Poll}'  had  been  there  too,  and  her  thoughtful  good-nature, 
forgetting  nothing  which  might  glad  them  on  their  coming. 

Meanwhile,  Josephine  had  reached  her  chamber,  and,  lock- 
ing the  door,  sat  down  and  leaned  her  head  on  the  table. 
Though  no  tears  fell  from  her  eyes,  her  bosom  heaved  and 
fell  heavily,  and  more  than  one  deep  sigh  escaped  her.  Was 
it  disappointment  that  had  so  overcome  her?  Plad  she  fan- 
cied something  grander  and  more  pretentious  than  this 
lonely  cottage?  Was  it  that  Aunt  Dinah's  welcome  was 
wanting  in  affection?  What  revulsion  could  it  be  that  so 
suddenly  overwhelmed  her?  Who  can  tell  these  things, 
who  can  explain  how  it  is  that,  without  any  definite  picture 
of  an  unexpected  joy,  imagination  will  so  work  upon  us 
that  reality  will  bring  nothing  but  a  blank?  It  is  not  that 
the  object  is  less  attractive  than  is  hoped  for,  it  is  simply 
that  a  dark  shadow  has  passed  over  our  own  hearts;  the 
sense  of  enjoyment  has  been  dulled,  and  we  are  sad  without 
a  reason.  If  we  underrate  sorrows  of  our  youth,  —  and  this 
is  essentially  one  of  them,  —  it  is  because  our  mature  age 
leaves  us  nothing  of  that  temperament  on  which  such  afflic- 
tions preyed. 

Josephine,  without  knowing  why,  without  even  a  reason, 
wished  herself  back  in  the  convent.  There,  if  there  was  a 
life  of  sombre  monotony  and  quietude,  there  was  at  least 
companionship ;  she  had  associates  of  her  own  age.  They 
had  pursuits  in  common,  shared  the  same  hopes  and  wishes 
and  fears ;  but  here  —  but  here  —  Just  as  her  thoughts  had 
carried  her  so  far,  a  tap  —  a  very  gentle  tap  —  came  to  the 
door.  Josephine  heard  it,  but  made  no  answer.  It  was 
repeated  a  little  louder,  and  then  a  low  pleasing  voice  she 
had  never  heard  before  said,  "  May  I  come  in  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Josephine,  —  "yes  —  that  is  —  who  are 
you?" 

"Polly  Dill,"  was  the  answer;  and  Josephine  arose  and 
unlocked  the  door. 

''Miss  Barrington  told  me  I  might  take  this  liberty,"  said 
Polly,  with  a  faint  smile.  "She  said,  'Go  and  make 
acquaintance  for  yourself;  I  never  play  master  of  the 
ceremonies.' " 


FiriNE   AND   rOLLY.  7 

"And  you  are  Pollj^  —  the  Polly  Dill  I  have  heard  so 
much  of?"  said  Josephiue,  regarding  her  steadily  and 
fixedly. 

"How  strauded  your  friends  must  have  been  for  a  topic 
when  they  talked  of  me  !  "  said  Polly,  laughing. 

"It  is  quite  true  you  have  beautiful  teeth,  —  I  never  saw 
such  beautiful  teeth,"  said  Josephine  to  herself,  while  she 
still  gazed  earnestly  at  her. 

"And  you,"  said  Polly,  "are  so  like  what  I  had  pictured 
you,  —  what  I  hoped  you  would  be.  I  find  it  hard  to  believe 
I  see  you  for  the  first  time." 

"So,  then,  you  did  not  think  the  Rajah's  daughter  should 
be  a  Moor?"  said  Josephine,  half  haughtily.  "It  is  very 
sad  to  see  what  disappointments  I  had  caused."  Neither 
the  saucy  toss  of  the  head,  nor  the  tone  that  accompanied 
these  words,  were  lost  upon  Polly,  who  began  to  feel  at  once 
that  she  understood  the  speaker. 

"And  your  brother,"  continued  Josephine,  "is  the  famous 
Tom  Dill  I  have  heard  such  stories  about?  " 

"Poor  Tom!  he  is  anything  rather  than  famous." 

"AVell,  he  is  remarkable;  he  is  odd,  original,  or  whatever 
you  would  call  it.  Fred  told  me  he  never  met  any  one  like 
him." 

"Tom  might  say  as  much  of  Mr.  Conyers,  for,  in  truth, 
no  one  ever  showed  him  such  kindness." 

"Fred  told  me  nothing  of  that;  but  perhaps,"  added  she, 
with  a  flashing  eye,  "you  were  more  in  his  confidence  than 
I  was." 

"I  knew  very  little  of  Mr.  Conyers;  I  believe  I  could 
count  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand  every  time  I  met  him." 

"How  strange  that  you  should  have  made  so  deep  an  im- 
pression. Miss  Dill!" 

"I  am  flattered  to  hear  it,  but  more  surprised  than 
flattered." 

"But  I  don't  wonder  at  it  in  the  least,"  said  Josephine, 
boldly.  "You  are  very  handsome,  you  are  very  graceful, 
and  then  —  "  She  hesitated  and  grew  confused,  and  stam- 
mered, and  at  last  said,  "and  then  there  is  that  about 
you  which  seems  to  say,  '  I  have  only  to  wish,  and  I  cau 
doit.'" 


8  BARRINGTON. 

"I  have  no  such  gift,  I  assure  you,"  said  Polly,  with  a 
half-sad  smile. 

"Oh,  I  know  you  are  very  clever;  I  have  heard  how  accom- 
plished you  were,  how  beautifully  3'ou  rode,  how  charmingly 
you  sang.  I  wish  he  had  not  told  me  of  it  all  —  for  if  — 
for  if  —  " 

"If  what?  Say  on!" 

*'If  you  were  not  so  superior  to  me,  I  feel  that  I  could  love 
you ; "  and  then  with  a  bound  she  threw  her  arms  around 
Polly's  neck,  and  clasped  her  affectionately  to  her  bosom. 

Sympathy,  like  a  fashionable  physician,  is  wonderfully 
successful  where  there  is  little  the  matter.  In  the  great  ills 
of  life,  when  the  real  afflictions  come  down  to  crush,  to 
wound,  or  to  stun  us,  we  are  comparatively  removed  from 
even  the  kindest  of  our  comforters.  Great  sorrows  are  very 
selfish  things.  In  the  lighter  maladies,  however,  in  the 
smaller  casualties  of  fortune,  sympathy  is  a  great  remedy, 
and  we  are  certain  to  find  that,  however  various  our  tem- 
peraments, it  has  a  sort  of  specific  for  each.  Now  Jose- 
phine Barrington  had  not  any  great  cares  upon  her  heart;  if 
the  balance  were  to  be  struck  between  them,  Polly  Dill 
could  have  numbered  ten,  ay,  twenty,  for  her  one,  but  she 
thought  hers  was  a  case  for  much  commiseration,  and  she 
liked  commiseration,  for  there  are  moral  hypochondrias  as 
well  as  physical  ones.  And  so  she  told  Polly  how  she  had 
neither  father  nor  mother,  nor  any  other  belongings  than 
"dear  old  grandpapa  and  austere  Aunt  Dinah;"  that  she 
had  been  brought  up  in  a  convent,  never  knowing  one  of 
the  pleasures  of  youth,  or  her  mind  being  permitted  to  stray 
beyond  the  dreary  routine  of  prayer  and  penance.  Of  music 
she  knew  nothing  but  the  solemn  chants  of  the  organ,  and 
even  flowers  were  to  her  eyes  but  the  festal  decorations  of 
the  high  altar;  and,  lastly,  she  vaguely  balanced  between 
going  back  to  the  dismal  existence  of  the  cloister,  or  enter- 
ing upon  the  troubled  sea  of  life,  so  full  of  perils  to  one 
unpractised  and  unskilled  as  she  was.  Now  Polly  was  a 
very  pretty  comforter  through  these  afflictions;  her  own 
home  experiences  were  not  all  rose-colored,  but  the  physi- 
cian who  whispers  honeyed  consolations  to  the  patient  has 
often  the  painful  consciousness  of  a  deeper  malady  within 


FEFINE  AND  POLLY.  9 

than  that  for  which  he  ministers.  Polly  knew  something 
of  a  life  of  struggle  and  small  fortune,  with  its  daily  inci- 
dent of  debt  and  dun.  She  knew  what  it  was  to  see  money 
mix  itself  with  every  phase  of  existence,  throwing  its 
damper  over  joy,  arresting  the  hand  of  benevolence,  even 
denying  to  the  sick-bed  the  little  comforts  that  help  to  cheat 
misery.  She  knew  how  penury  can  eat  its  canker  into  the 
heart  till  all  things  take  the  color  of  thrift,  and  life  becomes 
at  last  the  terrible  struggle  of  a  swimmer  storm-tossed  and 
weary;  and  yet,  with  all  this  experience  in  her  heart,  she 
could  whisper  cheerful  counsels  to  Josephine,  and  tell  her 
that  the  world  had  a  great  many  pleasant  paths  through  it, 
though  one  was  occasionally  footsore  before  reaching  them ; 
and  in  this  way  they  talked  till  they  grew  very  fond  of  each 
other,  and  Josephine  was  ready  to  confess  that  the  sorrow 
nearest  to  her  heart  was  parting  with  her.  "But  must  you 
go,  dearest  Polly,  —  must  you  really  go?  " 

"I  must,  indeed,"  said  she,  laughing;  "for  if  I  did  not, 
two  little  sisters  of  mine  would  go  supperless  to  bed,  not  to 
speak  of  a  small  boy  who  is  waiting  for  me  with  a  Latin 
grammar  before  him ;  and  the  cook  must  get  her  orders  for 
to-morrow;  and  papa  must  have  his  tea;  and  this  short, 
stumpy  little  key  that  you  see  here  unlocks  the  oat-bin,  with- 
out which  an  honest  old  pony  would  share  in  the  family 
fast:  so  that,  all  things  considered,  my  absence  would  be 
far  from  advisable." 

"And  when  shall  we  meet  again,  Polly?" 

"Not  to-morrow,  dear;  for  to-morrow  is  our  fair  at 
Inistioge,  and  I  have  yarn  to  buy,  and  some  lambs  to 
sell." 

"And  could  you  sell  lambs,  Polly?"  said  Josephine,  with 
an  expression  of  blank  disappointment  in  her  face. 

Polly  smiled,  but  not  without  a  certain  sadness,  as  she 
said,  "There  are  some  sentimentalities  which,  to  one  in  my 
condition,  would  just  be  as  unsuitable  as  Brussels  lace  or 
diamonds.  They  are  born  of  luxury  and  indolence,  and 
pertain  to  those  whose  existence  is  assured  to  them;  and 
my  own  opinion  is,  they  are  a  poor  privilege.  At  all 
events,"  added  she,  rapidly,  "they  are  not  for  me,  and  I  do 
not  wish  for  them." 


10  BARRINGTON, 

"The  daj' after  to-morrow,  then,  you  will  come  here, — 
promise  me  that." 

"It  will  be  late,  then,  towards  evening,  for  I  have  made 
an  engagement  to  put  a  young  horse  iu  harness,  —  a  thiee- 
year-old,  and  a  sprightly  one,  they  tell  me,  —  so  that  I  may 
look  on  the  morning  as  filled.  I  see,  my  dear  child,  how 
shocked  you  are  with  all  these  unladylike  cares  and  duties; 
but  poor  Tom  and  I  used  to  weld  our  lives  together,  and 
while  I  took  my  share  of  boat-building  one  day,  he  helped 
me  in  the  dairy  the  day  after;  but  now  that  he  is  gone,  our 
double  functions  devolve  upon  me." 

"  How  happy  you  must  be!  " 

"I  think  I  am;  at  least,  I  have  no  time  to  spare  for 
unhappiness." 

"If  I  could  but  change  with  you,  Polly! " 

"Change  what,  my  dear  child?" 

"Condition,  fortune,  belongings, — everything." 

"Take  my  word  for  it,  you  are  just  as  well  as  you  are; 
but  I  suppose  it's  very  natural  for  one  to  fancy  he  could 
carry  another's  burden  easier  than  his  own,  for  it  was  only 
a  few  moments  back  I  thought  how  I  should  like  to  be 
you." 

"  To  be  me,  —  to  be  me !  " 

"Of  course  I  was  wrong,  dearest.  It  was  only  a  passing, 
fleeting  thought,  and  I  now  see  how  absurd  I  was  to  wish  to 
be  very  beautiful,  dearly  loved,  and  affectionately  cared  for, 
with  a  beautiful  home  to  live  in,  and  every  hour  free  to  be 
happ}-.  Oh,  what  a  sigh,  dearest,  what  a  sigh!  but  I  assure 
you  I  have  my  calamities  too;  the  mice  have  got  at  the 
seeds  in  my  onion-bed,  and  I  don't  expect  to  see  one  come 
up." 

If  .losephine's  first  impulse  was  to  feel  angry,  her  next 
was  to  laugh  out,  which  she  did  heartih';  and  passing  her 
arm  fondly  round  Polly's  waist,  she  said,  "  I  '11  get  used  to 
your  raillery,  Polly,  and  not  feel  sore  at  it;  but  remember, 
too,  it's  a  spirit  I  never  knew  before." 

"How  good  and  generous,  then,  to  bear  it  so  well!  "  said 
Polly,  affectionately;  "your  friend  Mr.  Conyers  did  not  show 
the  same  patience." 


FrFIXE   AND   POLLY.  11 

"You  tried  him,  theu?  "  said  Josephine,  with  a  half-eager 
glance. 

"  Of  course ;  I  talked  to  him  as  I  do  to  every  one.  But 
there  goes  your  dinner-bell."  Cheeking  herself  on  a  reflec- 
tion over  the  pretension  of  this  summons  of  three  people  to 
a  family  meal  in  a  cottage,  Polly  tied  on  her  bonnet  and 
said  "Good-bye." 


CHAPTER  II. 


AT    HOME   AGAIN. 


The  Barringtons  had  not  been  quite  a  fortnight  settled  in 
their  home,  when  a  note  came  from  Conyers,  lamenting,  in 
most  feeling  terms,  that  he  could  not  pay  them  his  promised 
visit.  If  the  epistle  was  not  very  long,  it  was  a  grumble 
from  beginning  to  end.  "Nobody  would  know,"  wrote  he, 
"  it  was  the  same  regiment  poor  Colonel  Hunter  commanded. 
Our  Major  is  now  in  command,  —  the  same  Stapylton  3'ou 
have  heard  me  speak  of ;  and  if  we  never  looked  on  him  too 
favorably,  we  now  especially  detest  him.  His  first  step  was 
to  tell  us  we  were  disorderly,  ill-dressed,  and  ill-disciplined ; 
but  we  were  even  less  prepared  to  hear  that  we  could  not 
ride.  The  result  of  all  this  is,  we  have  gone  to  school  again, 
—  even  old  captains,  who  have  served  with  distinction  in  the 
field,  have  been  consigned  to  the  riding-house ;  and  we  poor 
subs  are  treated  as  if  we  were  the  last  refuse  of  all  the  regi- 
ments of  the  army,  sent  here  to  be  reformed  and  corrected. 
We  have  incessant  drills,  parades,  and  inspections,  and, 
worse  again,  all  leave  is  stopped.  If  I  was  not  in  the  best 
of  temper  with  the  service  before,  you  may  judge  how  I  feel 
towards  it  now.  In  fact,  if  it  were  not  that  I  expect  my 
father  back  in  England  by  the  middle  of  May,  I  'd  send  in 
my  papers  and  leave  at  once.  How  I  fall  back  now  in 
memory  to  the  happy'  days  of  my  ramble  with  you,  and 
wonder  if  I  shall  ever  see  the  like  again.  And  how  I  hate 
myself  for  not  having  felt  at  the  time  how  immeasurably 
delightful  they  were !  Trust  me  never  to  repeat  the  mistake 
if  I  have  the  opportunity  given  me.  I  asked  this  morning 
for  three  days  —  only  three  —  to  run  down  and  see  you  once 
more  before  we  leave,  —  for  we  are  ordered  to  Hounslow,  — 
and  I  was  refused.     But  this  was  not  all :  not  content  with 


AT  HOME  AGAIN.  13 

rejecting  my  request,  he  added  what  he  called  an  expression 
of  astonishment  that  an  officer  so  deficient  in  his  duties 
should  care  to  absent  himself  from  regimental  discipline." 

"Poor  boy!  —  this  is,  indeed,  too  bad,"  said  Miss  Dinah, 
as  she  had  read  thus  far;  "only  think,  Peter,  how  this 
young  fellow,  spoiled  and  petted  as  he  was  as  a  child,  — de- 
nied nothing,  pampered  as  though  he  were  a  prince,  —  should 
find  himself  the  mark  of  so  insulting  a  tyranny.  Are  you 
listening  to  me,  Peter  Barrington?" 

"Eh, — what?  No,  thank  you,  Dinah;  I  have  made  an 
excellent  breakfast,"  said  Barrington,  hurriedly,  and  again 
addressed  himself  to  the  letter  he  was  reading.  "That's 
what  I  call  a  Trump,  Dinah,  —  a  regular  Trump." 

"  Who  is  the  especial  favorite  that  has  called  for  the  very 
choice  eulogy?  "  said  she,  bridling  up. 

"  Gone  into  the  thing,  too,  with  heart  and  soul,  — a  noble 
fellow  !  "  continued  Barrington. 

"Pray  enlighten  us  as  to  the  name  that  calls  forth  such 
enthusiasm." 

"  Stapylton,  my  dear  Dinah,  —  Major  Stapylton.  In  all 
my  life  I  do  not  remember  one  instance  to  parallel  with  this 
generous  and  disinterested  conduct.  Listen  to  what  Wither- 
ing says,  —  not  a  man  given  to  take  up  rash  impressions  in 
favor  of  a  stranger.  Listen  to  this :  '  Stapylton  has  been 
very  active,  — written  to  friends,  both  at  Calcutta  and  Agra, 
and  shown,  besides,  an  amount  of  acuteness  in  pursuit  of 
what  is  really  important,  that  satisfies  me  a  right  good  com- 
mon lawyer  has  been  lost  by  his  being  a  soldier.'  And  here, 
again  he  recurs  to  him :  it  is  with  reference  to  certain  docu- 
ments: 'S.  persists  in  believing  that  with  proper  diligence 
these  may  be  recovered ;  he  says  that  it  is  a  common  prac- 
tice with  the  Mooushees  to  retain  papers,  in  the  hope  of  their 
being  one  day  deemed  of  value ;  and  he  is  fully  persuaded 
that  they  have  not  been  destroyed.  There  is  that  about  the 
man's  manner  of  examining  a  question, — his  patience,  his 
instinctive  seizure  of  what  is  of  moment,  and  his  invariable 
rejection  of  whatever  is  immaterial ;  and,  lastly,  his  thorough 
appreciation  of  the  character  of  that  evidence  which  would 
have  most  weight  with  the  Indian  Board,  which  dispose  me 
to  regard  him  as  an  invaluable  ally  to  our  cause.'" 


14  BARRINGTON. 

"  Do  me  the  favor  to  regard  this  picture  of  your  friend 
now,"  said  Miss  Barringtou,  as  slie  handed  the  letter  from 
Conyers  across  the  table. 

Barringtou  read  it  over  attentively.  "And  what  does  this 
prove,  my  dear  sister?  "  said  he.  "  This  is  the  sort  of  stereo- 
typed complaint  of  every  young  fellow  who  has  been  refused 
a  leave.  I  have  no  doubt  Hunter  was  too  easy-tempered  to 
liave  been  strict  in  discipline,  and  the  chances  are  these 
young  dogs  had  everything  their  own  way  till  Stapylton 
came  amongst  them.  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  any  man 
likes  unpopularity." 

"Perhaps  not,  Peter  Barringtou;  but  he  may  like  tyranny 
more  than  he  hates  unpopularity;  and,  for  my  own  part, 
this  man  is  odious  to  me." 

"Don't  say  so,  Diuah,  — don't  say  so,  I  entreat  of  you, 
for  he  will  be  our  guest  here  this  very  day." 

"Our  guest!  —  why,  is  not  the  regiment  under  orders  to 
leave?" 

"So  it  is;  but  Withering  says  it  would  be  a  great  matter 
if  we  could  have  a  sort  of  consultation  together  before  the 
Major  leaves  Ireland.  There  are  innumerable  little  details 
which  he  sees  ought  to  be  discussed  between  us ;  and  so  he 
has  persuaded  him  to  give  us  a  day,  — perhaps  two  days,  — 
no  small  boon,  Dinah,  from  one  so  fully  occupied  as  he  is." 

"I  wish  he  would  not  make  the  sacrifice,  Peter." 

"My  dear  sister,  are  we  so  befriended  by  Fortune  that 
we  can  afford  to  reject  the  kindness  of  our  fellows?  " 

"I'm  no  believer  in  chance  friendships,  Peter  Barring- 
ton;  neither  you  nor  I  are  such  interesting  orphans  as  to 
inspire  sympathy  at  first  sight." 

.Josephine  could  not  help  a  laugh  at  Miss  Dinah's  illus- 
tration, and  old  Barringtou  himself  heartily  joined  in  the 
merriment,  not  sorry  the  while  to  draw  the  discussion  into  a 
less  stern  field.  "Come,  come,  Dinah,"  said  he,  gajdy,  "let 
us  put  out  a  few  bottles  of  that  old  Madeira  in  the  sun ;  and 
if  Darby  can  find  us  a  salmon-trout,  we  '11  do  our  best  to 
entertain  our  visitors." 

"It  never  occurred  to  me  to  doubt  the  probability  of  their 
enjoying  themselves,  Peter;  my  anxieties  were  quite  on 
another  score." 


AT   HOME   AGAIN.  15 

"Now,  Fifine,"  continued  Barriugton,  "we  shall  see  if 
Polly  Dill  has  really  made  you  the  perfect  housekeeper  she 
boasted.  The  next  day  or  two  will  put  your  talents  to  the 
test." 

"  Oh,  if  we  could  only  have  Polly  herself  here !  " 

"What  for?  —  on  what  pretext,  Miss  Barriugton?"  said 
Dinah,  haughtily.  "I  have  not,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  been 
accounted  very  ignorant  of  household  cares." 

"Withering  declares  that  your  equal  is  not  in  Europe, 
Dinah." 

"Mr.  Withering's  suffrage  can  always  be  bought  by  a 
mock-turtle  soup,  and  a  glass  of  Roman  punch  after 
it." 

"How  he  likes  it,  —  how  he  relishes  it!  He  says  that  he 
comes  back  to  the  rest  of  the  dinner  with  the  freshness  of  a 
man  at  an  assize  case." 

"So  like  him!"  said  Dinah,  scornfully;  "he  has  never 
an  illustration  that  is  not  taken  from  the  Four  Courts.  I 
remember  one  day,  when  asking  for  the  bill  of  fare,  he 
said,  'Will  you  kindly  let  me  look  at  the  cause  list.'  Pre- 
pare yourself,  Josephine,  for  an  avalanche  of  law  anecdotes 
and  Old  Bailey  stories,  for  I  assure  you  you  will  hear  noth- 
ing for  the  next  three  days  but  drolleries  that  have  been 
engrossed  on  parchment  and  paid  stamp  duty  to  the 
Crown." 

Barrington  gave  a  smile,  as  though  in  protest  against  the 
speech,  and  left  the  room.  In  truth,  he  was  very  anxious  to 
be  alone,  and  to  think  over,  at  his  leisure,  a  short  passage 
in  his  letter  which  he  had  not  summoned  courage  to  read 
aloud.  It  was  Withering's  opinion  that  to  institute  the  in- 
quiries in  India  a  considerable  sum  of  money  would  be 
required,  and  he  had  left  it  for  Barrington's  consideration 
whether  it  were  wiser  to  risk  the  great  peril  of  this  further 
involvement,  or  once  more  to  try  what  chance  there  might 
be  of  a  compromise.  Who  knows  what  success  might  have 
attended  the  suggestion  if  the  old  lawyer  had  but  employed 
any  other  word!  Compromise,  however,  sounded  to  his 
ears  like  an  unworthy  concession,  —  a  surrender  of  George's 
honor.  Compromise  might  mean  money  for  his  grand- 
daughter, and  shame  to  her  father's  memory.     Not,  indeed, 


16  BARRINGTON. 

that  "Withering  was,  as  a  man,  one  to  counsel  such  a  course, 
but  Withering  was  a  lawyer,  and  in  the  same  spirit  that  he 
would  have  taken  a  verdict  for  half  his  claim  if  he  saw  an 
adverse  feeling  in  the  jury-box,  so  he  wOuld  bow  to  circum- 
stances that  were  stronger  than  him,  and  accept  the  best 
he  could,  if  he  might  not  have  all  that  he  ought.  But  could 
Barrington  take  this  view  ?  He  thought  not.  His  convic- 
tion was  that  the  main  question  to  establish  was  the  fair 
fame  and  honor  of  his  son;  his  guide  was,  how  George 
himself  would  have  acted  —  would  have  felt  —  in  the  same 
contingency;  and  he  muttered,  "He'd  have  been  a  hardy 
fellow  who  would  have  hinted  at  compromise  to  him" 

The  next  point  was  how  the  means  for  the  coming  cam- 
paign were  to  be  provided.  He  had  already  raised  a  small 
sum  by  way  of  mortgage  on  the  "Home,"  and  nothing 
remained  but  to  see  what  further  advance  could  be  made  on 
the  same  security.  When  Barrington  was  a  great  estated 
gentleman  with  a  vast  fortune  at  his  command,  it  cost  him 
wonderfully  little  thought  to  contract  a  loan,  or  even  to 
sell  a  farm.  A  costly  election,  a  few  weeks  of  unusual 
splendor,  an  unfortunate  night  at  play,  had  made  such 
sacrifices  nothing  very  unusual,  and  he  would  give  his 
orders  on  this  score  as  unconcernedly  as  he  would  bid  his 
servant  replenish  his  glass  at  table.  Indeed,  he  had  no 
more  fear  of  exhausting  his  fortune  than  he  felt  as  to  out- 
drinking  his  cellar.  There  was  enough  there,  as  he  often 
said,  for  those  who  should  come  after  him.  And  now,  what 
a  change !  He  stood  actually  appalled  at  the  thought  of  a 
mortgage  for  less  than  a  thousand  pounds.  But  so  it  is; 
the  cockboat  may  be  more  to  a  man  than  was  once  the 
three-decker.  The  cottage  was  his  all  now ;  that  lost,  and 
they  were  houseless.  Was  it  not  a  bold  thing  to  risk  every- 
thing on  one  more  throw?  There  was  the  point  over  which 
he  now  pondered  as  he  walked  slowly  along  in  the  little 
shady  alley  between  the  laurel  hedges.  He  had  no  friend 
nearer  his  heart  than  Withering,  no  one  to  whom  he  could 
unbosom  himself  so  frankly  and  so  freely,  and  yet  this  was 
a  case  on  which  he  could  not  ask  his  counsel.  All  his  life 
long  he  had  strenuously  avoided  suffering  a  question  of  the 
kind   to  intervene  between   them.     Of   his   means,  his  re- 


AT   HOME   AGAIN.  17 

sources,  his  straits,  or  his  demands,  Withering  knew  posi- 
tively nothing.  It  was  with  Barrington  a  point  of  delicacy 
to  maintain  this  reserve  towards  one  who  was  always  his 
lawyer,  and  often  his  guest.  The  very  circumstance  of  his 
turning  innkeeper  was  regarded  by  Withering  as  savoring 
far  more  of  caprice  than  necessit}^  and  Barrington  took  care 
to  strengthen  this  impression. 

If,  then.  Withering' s  good  sense  and  worldly  knowledge 
would  have  been  invaluable  aids  to  him  in  this  conjunction, 
he  saw  he  could  not  have  them.  The  same  delicacy  which 
debarred  him  heretofore,  would  still  interpose  against  his 
appeal  to  that  authority.  And  then  he  thought  how  he 
had  once  troops  of  friends  to  whom  he  could  address 
himself  for  counsel.  There  is  nothing  more  true,  indeed, 
than  the  oft-uttered  scoff  on  the  hollowness  of  those  friend- 
ships which  attach  to  the  days  of  prosperous  fortune,  and 
the  world  is  very  prone  to  point  to  the  utter  loneliness  of 
him  who  has  been  shipwrecked  by  Fate ;  but  let  us  be  just 
in  our  severity,  and  let  us  own  that  a  man's  belongings,  his 
associates,  his  —  what  common  parlance  calls  —  friends,  are 
the  mere  accidents  of  his  station,  and  the}'  no  more  accom- 
pany him  in  his  fall  than  do  the  luxuries  he  has  forfeited. 
From  the  level  from  which  he  has  lapsed  they  have  not 
descended.  They  are  there,  living  to-day  as  they  lived 
yesterday.  If  their  sympathy  is  not  with  him,  it  is  because 
neither  are  they  themselves ;  they  cross  each  other  no  more. 
Such  friendships  are  like  the  contracts  made  with  a  crew  for 
a  particular  vo3'age,  —  they  end  with  the  cruise.  No  man 
ever  understood  this  better  than  Barrington ;  no  man  ever 
bore  the  world  less  of  ill  will  for  its  part  towards  himself. 
If  now  and  then  a  sense  of  sadness  would  cloud  him  at 
some  mark  of  passing  forgetfulness,  he  would  not  own  to 
the  gloomy  feeling;  while  to  any  show  of  recognition,  to 
any  sign  of  a  grateful  remembrance  of  the  past,  he  would 
grow  boastful  to  very  vanity.  "Look  there,  Dinah,"  he 
would  say,  "what  a  noble-hearted  fellow  that  is!  I  scarcely 
was  more  than  commonly  civil  to  him  formerly,  and  j'ou 
saw  how  courteous  he  was  in  making  a  place  for  us,  how 
heartily  he  hoped  I  was  in  good  health." 

"I'll  send  over  to  Dill  and  have  a  talk  with  him,"  was 

VOL.  II.  —  2 


18  BARRINGTON. 

Barrington's  last  resolve,  as  be  turned  the  subject  over 
and  over  in  his  mind.  "Dill's  a  shrewd  fellow,  and  I  'm 
not  sure  that  he  has  not  laid  by  a  little  nione}';  he  might 
feel  no  objection  to  a  good  investment  for  it,  with  such 
security."  And  he  looked  around  as  he  spoke  on  the  trees, 
some  of  -which  he  planted,  every  one  of  which  he  knew,  and 
sighed  heavily.  "He  '11  scarce  love  the  spot  more  than  I 
did,"  muttered  he,  and  walked  along  with  his  head  down. 
After  awhile  he  took  out  AVithering's  letter  from  his  pocket 
and  re-read  it.  Somehow,  it  was  hard  to  say  why,  it  did 
not  read  so  promisingly  as  at  first.  The  ditliculties  to  be 
encountered  were  very  stubborn  ones,  so  much  so  that  he 
very  palpably  hinted  how  much  better  some  amicable  settle- 
ment would  be  than  an  open  contest  wherein  legal  subtlety 
and  craft  should  be  evoked.  There  was  so  much  of  that 
matter  always  taken  for  granted,  to  be  proved,  to  be  demon- 
strated true  on  evidence,  that  it  actually  looked  appalling. 
"Of  the  searches  and  inquiries  instituted  in  India,"  wrote 
Withering,  "I  can  speak  but  vaguely;  but  I  own  the  very 
distance  magnifies  them  immensely  to  my  eyes."  "Tom  is 
growing  old,  not  a  doubt  of  it,"  muttered  Harrington ;  "these 
were  not  the  sort  of  obstacles  that  could  have  terrified  him 
once  on  a  time.  He  'd  have  said,  '  If  there  's  evidence,  we  '11 
have  it;  if  there's  a  document,  we  '11  find  it.'  It's  India, 
that  far-away  land,  that  has  frightened  him.  These  lawyers, 
like  certain  sportsmen,  lose  their  nerve  if  you  take  them  out 
of  their  own  country.  It 's  the  new  style  of  fences  they 
can't  face.  Well,  thanks  to  him  who  gave  it,  I  have  my 
stout  heart  still,  and  I'll  go  on." 

"Going  on"  was,  however,  not  the  easy  task  it  first 
seemed,  nor  was  the  pleasantest  part  of  it  the  necessity  of 
keeping  the  secret  from  his  sister.  Miss  Dinah  had  from 
the  first  discouraged  the  whole  suit.  The  adversary  was 
too  powerful,  the  odds  against  them  were  too  great;  the 
India  Board  had  only  to  protract  and  prolong  the  case  and 
thei/  must  be  beaten  from  sheer  exhaustion.  How,  then, 
should  he  reconcile  her  to  mortgaging  the  last  remnant 
of  all  their  fortune  for  "one  more  throw  on  the  table"? 
"No  chance  of  persuading  a  woman  that  this  would  be 
wise,"  said  he.     And  he  thought,  when  he   had   laid   the 


AT  HOME   AGAIN.  19 

prejudice  of  sex  as  the  ground  of  error,  he  had  completed 
his  argument. 

"Going  on  "  had  its  fine  generous  side  about  it,  also,  that 
cheered  and  elevated  him.  It  was  for  George  he  was  doing 
it,  and  that  dear  girl,  whose  every  trait  recalled  her  father; 
for  let  those  explain  it  who  can,  she,  who  had  never  seen 
nor  even  heard  of  her  father  since  her  infancy,  inherited  all 
his  peculiar  ways  and  habits,  and  every  trick  of  his  manner. 
Let  me  own  that  these,  even  more  than  any  qualities  of  ster- 
ling worth,  endeared  her  to  her  grandfather;  and  just  as  he 
had  often  declared  no  rank  or  position  that  could  befall 
George  would  have  been  above  his  deserts,  so  he  averred 
that  if  Josephine  were  to  be  the  greatest  heiress  in  England 
to-morrow,  she  would  be  a  grace  and  an  ornament  to  the 
station.  If  Aunt  Dinah  would  occasionally  attempt  to 
curb  this  spirit,  or  even  limit  its  extravagance,  his  in- 
variable answer  was,  "It  may  be  all  as  you  say,  sister, 
but  for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  think  my  swans  to  be 
geese." 

As  he  thus  mused  and  meditated,  he  heard  the  wicket  of 
the  garden  open  and  shut,  and  shortly  afterwards  a  half- 
shambling  shuffling  step  on  the  gravel.  Before  he  had 
time  to  speculate  on  whose  it  should  be,  he  saw  Major 
M'Cormick  limping  laboriously  towards  him. 

"How  is  this.  Major?"  cried  he;  "has  the  change  of 
weather  disagreed  with  your  rheumatism?" 

"It's  the  wound;  it's  always  worse  in  the  fall  of  the 
year,"  croaked  the  other.  "I'd  have  been  up  to  see  you 
before  but  for  the  pains,  and  that  old  fool  Dill  —  a  greater 
fool  myself  for  trusting  him  —  made  me  put  on  a  blister 
down  what  he  calls  the  course  of  the  nerve,  and  I  never  knew 
torture  till  I  tried  it." 

"My  sister  Dinah  has,  I  verily  believe,  the  most  sover- 
eign remedy  for  these  pains." 

"Is  it  the  green  draught?  Oh,  don't  I  know  it,"  burst 
out  the  ^[ajor.  "You  might  hear  my  shouts  the  day  I  took 
it  down  at  Inistioge.  There  was  n't  a  bit  of  skin  left  on 
my  lips,  and  when  I  wiped  the  perspiration  off  my  head  my 
hair  came  off  too.  Aquafortis  is  like  egg-flip  compared  to 
that  blessed  draught;  and  I  remember  well  how  I  crawled  to 


20  BAKRINGTON. 

my  writing-desk  and  wrote,  '  Have  me  opened,*  for  I  knew 
I  was  poisoned." 

*'Did  you  tell  my  sister  of  your  sufferings?" 

"To  be  sure  I  did,  and  she  only  smiled  and  said  that  I 
took  it  when  I  was  fasting,  or  when  I  was  full,  I  forget 
which;  and  that  I  ought  to  have  taken  a  brisk  walk,  and  I 
only  able  to  creep ;  and  only  one  spoonful  at  a  time,  and  it 
was  the  whole  bottle  I  swallowed.  In  fact,  she  owned 
afterwards  that  nothing  but  the  strength  of  a  horse  could 
have  saved  me." 

Peter  found  it  very  hard  to  maintain  a  decent  gravity  at 
the  play  of  the  Major's  features,  which  during  the  narrative 
recalled  every  dire  experience  of  his  medicine. 

"Well,  come  into  the  house  and  we  '11  give  you  something 
better,"  said  Barrington,  at  last. 

"I  think  I  saw  your  granddaughter  at  the  window  as  I 
came  by,  —  a  good-looking  young  woman,  and  not  so  dark 
as  I  suspected  she  'd  be." 

"There  's  not  a  handsomer  girl  in  Ireland;  and  as  to  skin, 
she  's  not  as  brown  as  her  father." 

"It  wouldn't  be  easy  to  be  that;  he  was  about  three 
shades  deeper  than  a  Portuguese." 

"George  Barrington  was  confessedly  the  finest-looking 
fellow  in  the  King's  army,  and  as  English-looking  a  gen- 
tleman as  any  man  in  it." 

The  tone  of  this  speech  was  so  palpably  that  of  one  who 
would  not  stand  the  very  shadow  of  a  rejoinder,  that  the 
Major  held  his  peace,  and  shuffled  along  without  a  word. 
The  thought,  however,  of  administering  a  rebuke  to  any  one 
within  the  precincts  of  his  home  was  so  repugnant  to  Bar- 
rington's  nature,  that  he  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words 
than  he  was  eager  to  repair  them,  and  with  a  most  embar- 
rassed humility  he  stammered  out  something  about  their 
recent  tour  abroad  and  all  the  enjoyment  it  had  given 
them. 

"Maybe  so,"  rejoined  the  other,  dryly;  "but  I  never  saw 
any  pleasure  in  spending  money  you  could  keep." 

"My  dear  Major,  that  is  precisely  the  very  money  that 
does  procure  pleasure." 

"Wasn't  that   a  post-chaise  I  saw   through   the   trees? 


AT  HOME   AGAIN.  21 

There  it  is  again;  it's  making  straight  for  the  '  Home, '" 
said  M'Cormick,  pointing  with  his  stick. 

"Yes,"  said  Peter;  "I  was  expecting  a  couple  of  friends 
to  pass  a  day  or  so  with  me  here.  Will  you  excuse  me  if  I 
hurry  forward  to  welcome  them  ?  " 

"Don't  make  a  stranger  of  me;  I'll  saunter  along  at  my 
leisure,"  said  the  Major,  as  Barriugtoa  walked  briskly  on 
towards  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A  SMALL    DINNER-PARTY. 

Withering  and  Stapylton  had  arrived  full)'  two  hours 
earlier  than  they  were  expected,  and  Miss  Dinah  was  too 
deeply  engaged  in  the  household  cares  that  wei-e  to  do  them 
honor  to  receive  them.  Josephine,  too,  was  not  less  busily 
occupied,  for  her  conventual  education  had  made  her  won- 
derfully skilful  in  all  sorts  of  confectionery,  and  she  was 
mistress  of  devices  in  spun  sugar  and  preserved  fruits, 
which  rose  in  Aunt  Dinah's  eyes  to  the  dignity  of  high  art. 
Barrington,  however,  was  there  to  meet  them,  and  with  a 
cordial  welcome  which  no  man  could  express  more  grace- 
fully. The  luncheon  hour  passed  pleasantly  over,  for  all 
were  in  good  humor  and  good  spirits.  Withering's  holiday 
always  found  him  ready  to  enjoy  it,  and  when  could  old 
Peter  feel  so  happy  as  when  he  had  a  guest  beneath  his  roof 
who  thoroughly  appreciated  the  cottage,  and  entered  into 
the  full  charm  of  its  lovely  scenery!  Such  was  Stapylton; 
he  blended  a  fair  liking  for  the  picturesque  with  a  natural 
instinct  for  comfort  and  homeliness,  and  he  saw  in  this  spot 
what  precisely  embraced  both  elements.  It  was  very  beau- 
tiful ;  but,  better  still,  it  was  very  lovable.  "It  was  so  rare  " 
—  so,  at  least,  he  told  Barrington  —  "to  find  a  cottage 
wherein  internal  comfort  had  not  been  sacrificed  to  some 
requirement  of  outward  show.  There  was  only  one  way  of 
doing  this,"  said  he,  as  Barrington  led  him  through  the 
little  flower-garden,  giving  glimpses  of  the  rooms  within  as 
they  passed,  — "only  one  wa}^  Mr.  Barrington;  a  man  must 
have  consummate  taste,  and  strong  credit  at  his  banker's." 
Barrington's  cheek  grew  a  thought  redder,  and  he  smiled 
that  faint  sad  smile  which  now  and  then  will  break  from  one 


A   SMALL  DINNER-PARTY.  23 

who  feels  that  he  could  rebut  what  he  has  just  heard,  if 
it  were  but  right  or  fitting  he  should  do  so.  Of  course, 
amongst  really  distressing  sensations  this  has  no  place; 
but  yet  there  is  a  peculiar  pain  in  being  complimented  by 
your  friend  on  the  well-to-do  condition  of  your  fortune  when 
your  conscience  is  full  of  the  long  watching  hours  of  the 
night,  or,  worse  still,  the  first  awaking  thought  of  ditficulties 
to  which  you  open  your  eyes  of  a  morning.  It  is  not 
often,  nor  are  there  many  to  whom  you  can  say,  "I  cannot 
tell  the  day  or  the  hour  when  all  this  shall  pass  away  from 
me;  my  head  is  racked  with  care,  and  my  heart  heavy 
with  anxiety."  How  jarring  to  be  told  of  all  the  things 
you  ought  to  do  I  You  who  could  so  well  afford  it !  And 
how  trying  to  have  to  take  shelter  from  your  necessity  under 
the  shadow  of  a  seeming  stinginess,  and  to  bear  every 
reflection  on  your  supposed  thrift  rather  than  own  to  your 
poverty ! 

If  Withering  had  been  with  them  as  they  strolled,  this, 
perhaps,  might  have  been  avoided;  he  had  all  a  lawyer's 
technical  skill  to  change  a  topic;  but  "Withering  had  gone 
to  take  his  accustomed  midday  nap,  the  greatest  of  all  the 
luxuries  his  time  of  idleness  bestowed  upon  him. 

Now,  although  Stapylton's  alludings  —  and  they  were  no 
more  —  to  Barrington's  gifts  of  fortune  were  such  as  per- 
fectly consisted  with  good  taste  and  good  breeding,  Barring- 
ton  felt  them  all  painfully,  and  probably  nothing  restrained 
him  from  an  open  disclaimer  of  their  fitness  save  the  thought 
that  from  a  host  such  an  avowal  would  sound  ungracefully. 
"It  is  my  duty  now,"  reasoned  he,  "to  make  my  guest  feel 
that  all  the  attentions  he  receives  exact  no  sacrifice,  and  that 
the  pleasure  his  presence  affords  is  unalloyed  by  a  single 
embarrassment.  If  he  must  hear  of  my  difficulties,  let  it  be 
when  he  is  not  beneath  my  roof."  And  so  he  let  Stapylton 
talk  away  about  the  blessings  of  tranquil  affluence,  and  the 
happiness  of  him  whose  only  care  was  to  find  time  for  the 
enjoyments  that  were  secured  to  him.  He  let  him  quote 
Pope  and  Wharton  and  Edmund  Burke,  and  smiled  the 
blandest  concurrence  with  what  was  irritating  him  almost 
to  fever. 

"This  is  Withering's  favorite  spot,"  said  Peter,  as  they 


24  BARRINGTON. 

gained  the  shade  of  a  huge  ilex-tree,  from  which  two  distinct 
reaches  of  the  river  were  visible. 

"And  it  shall  be  mine,  too,"  said  Stapylton,  throwing 
himself  down  in  the  deep  grass;  "and  as  I  know  you  have 
scores  of  things  which  claim  your  attention,  let  me  release 
you,  while  I  add  a  cigar  —  the  only  possible  enhancement  — 
to  the  delight  of  this  glorious  nook." 

"Well,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish.  We  dine  at  six.  I  '11 
go  and  look  after  a  fish  for  our  entertainment;"  and  Bar- 
vington  turned  away  into  the  copse,  not  sorry  to  release 
his  heart  by  a  heavy  sigh,  and  to  feel  he  was  alone  with 
his  cares. 

Let  us  turn  for  a  moment  to  M'Cormick,  who  continued 
to  saunter  slowly  about  the  garden,  in  the  expectation  of 
Barrington's  return.  Wearied  at  length  with  waiting,  and 
resolved  that  his  patience  should  not  go  entirely  unrequited, 
he  turned  into  a  little  shady  walk  on  which  the  windows  of 
the  kitchen  opened.  Stationing  himself  there,  in  a  position 
to  see  without  being  seen,  he  took  what  he  called  an  obser- 
vation of  all  within.  The  sight  was  interesting,  even  if  he 
did  not  bring  to  it  the  appreciation  of  a  painter.  There, 
upon  a  spacious  kitchen  table,  lay  a  lordly  sirloin,  richly 
and  variously  colored,  flanked  by  a  pair  of  plump  guinea- 
hens  and  a  fresh  salmon  of  fully  twenty  pounds'  weight. 
Luscious  fruit  and  vegetables  were  heaped  and  mingled  in 
a  wild  profusion,  and  the  speckled  plumage  of  game  wa& 
half  hidden  under  the  massive  bunches  of  great  hot-house 
grapes.  It  is  doubtful  if  Sueyders  himself  could  have  looked 
upon  the  display  with  a  higher  sense  of  enjoyment.  It  is, 
indeed,  a  question  between  the  relative  merits  of  two  senses, 
and  the  issue  lies  between  the  eye  and  the  palate. 

Wisely  reasoning  that  such  preparations  were  not  made  for 
common  guests,  IM'Cormick  ran  over  in  his  mind  all  the 
possible  and  impossible  names  he  could  think  of,  ending 
at  last  with  the  conviction  it  was  some  "Nob  "  he  must  have 
met  abroad,  and  whom  in  a  moment  of  his  expansive  hospi- 
tality he  had  invited  to  visit  him.  "Isn't  it  like  them!" 
muttered  he.  "It  would  be  long  before  they'd  think  of 
such  an  entertainment  to  an  old  neighbor  like  myself;  but 
here  they  are  spending  —  who  knows  how  much  ?  —  for  some- 


A  SMALL  DINNER-PARTY.  25 

body  that  to-morrow  or  next  day  won't  remember  their 
names,  or  maybe,  perhaps,  laugh  when  they  think  of  the 
funny  old  woman  they  saw,  —  the  '  Fright '  with  the  yellow 
shawl  and  the  orange  bonnet.     Oh,  the  world,  the  world !  " 

It  is  not  .for  me  to  speculate  on  what  sort  of  thing  the 
world  had  been,  if  the  Major  himself  had  been  intrusted 
with  the  control  and  fashion  of  it;  but  I  have  my  doubts 
that  we  are  just  as  well  off  as  we  are.  "Well,  though  they 
haven't  the  manners  to  say  '  M'Cormick,  will  you  stop  and 
dine?'  they  haven't  done  with  me  yet;  not  a  bit!"  And 
with  this  resolve  he  entered  the  cottage,  and  found  his  way 
to  the  drawing-room.  It  was  unoccupied;  so  he  sat  himself 
down  in  a  comfortable  armchair,  to  await  events  and  their 
issue.  There  were  books  and  journals  and  newspapers 
about;  but  the  Major  was  not  a  reader,  and  so  he  sat  musing 
and  meditating,  while  the  time  went  by.  Just  as  the  clock 
struck  five,  Miss  Dinah,  whose  various  cares  of  housewifery 
bad  given  her  a  very  busy  day,  was  about  to  have  a  look  at 
the  drawing-room  before  she  went  to  dress,  and  being  fully 
aware  that  one  of  her  guests  was  asleep,  and  the  other  full 
stretched  beside  the  river,  she  felt  she  could  go  her  "rounds  " 
without  fear  of  being  observed.  Now,  whatever  had  been 
the  peculiar  functions  she  was  lately  engaged  in,  they  had 
exacted  from  her  certain  changes  in  costume  more  pictur- 
esque than  flattering.  In  the  first  place,  the  sleeves  of  her 
dress  were  rolled  up  above  the  elbows,  displaying  arms  more 
remarkable  for  bone  than  beauty.  A  similar  curtailment  of 
her  petticoats  exhibited  feet  and  ankles  which  —  not  to  be 
ungallant  —  might  be  called  massive  rather  than  elegant; 
and  lastly,  her  two  long  curls  of  auburn  hair  —  curls  which, 
in  the  splendor  of  her  full  toilette,  were  supposed  to  be  no 
mean  aids  to  her  captivating  powers  —  were  noAV  tastefully 
festooned  and  fastened  to  the  l)ack  of  her  head,  pretty  much 
as  a  pair  of  hawsers  are  occasionally  disposed  on  the  bow 
of  a  merchantman !  Thus  costumed,  she  had  advanced  into 
the  middle  of  the  room  before  she  saw  the  Major. 

"A  pleasure  quite  unexpected,  sir,  is  this,"  said  she, 
with  a  vigorous  effort  to  shake  out  what  sailors  would  call 
her  "lower  courses."  "I  was  not  aware  that  you  were 
here." 


26  BxVRRINGTON. 

"Indeed,  then,  I  came  in  myself,  just  like  old  times.  I 
said  tliis  morning,  if  it 's  line  to-day,  I  '11  just  go  over  to  the 
*  Fisherman's  Home.'" 

"  '  The  Home,'  sir,  if  you  please.  We  retain  so  much  of 
the  former  name."  But  just  as  she  uttered  the  correction, 
a  chance  look  at  the  glass  conveyed  the  condition  of  her 
head-gear,  —  a  startling  fact  which  made  her  cheeks  per- 
fectly crimson.  "I  lay  stress  upon  the  change  of  name, 
sir,"  continued  she,  "as  intimating  that  we  are  no  longer 
innkeepers,  and  expect  something,  at  least,  of  the  deference 
rendered  to  those  who  call  their  house  their  own." 

"To  be  sure,  and  why  not?"  croaked  out  the  Major,  with 
a  malicious  grin.  "And  I  forgot  all  about  it,  little  think- 
ing, indeed,  to  surprise  you  in  'dishabille,'  as  they  call 
it." 

"  You  surprise  me,  sir,  every  time  we  meet,"  said  she, 
with  flashing  eyes.  "And  you  make  me  feel  surprised  with 
myself  for  my  endurance !  "  And  so  saying,  she  retired 
towards  the  door,  covering  her  retreat  as  she  went  by  every 
object  of  furniture  that  presented  itself,  and,  like  a  skilful 
general,  defending  her  rear  by  every  artifice  of  the  ground. 
Thus  did  she  exit,  and  with  a  bang  of  the  door  —  as  elo- 
quent as  any  speech  —  close  the  colloquy. 

"Faix!  and  the  Swiss  costume  doesn't  become  j^ou  at 
all!"  said  the  Major,  as  he  sat  back  in  his  chair,  and 
cackled  over  the  scene. 

As  Miss  Barrington,  boiling  with  passion,  passed  her 
brother's  door,  she  stopped  to  knock. 

"Peter!"  cried  she.  "Peter  Barrington,  I  sa}' !  "  The 
words  were,  however,  not  well  out,  when  she  heard  a  step 
ascending  the  stair.  She  could  not  risk  another  discovery 
like  the  last;  so,  opening  the  door,  she  said,  "That  hate- 
ful M'Cormick  is  below.  Peter,  take  care  that  on  no 
account  —  " 

There  was  no  time  to  finish,  and  she  had  barely  an  instant 
to  gain  her  own  room,  when  Stapylton  readied  the  corridor. 

Peter  Barrington  had,  however,  heard  enough  to  inform 
him  of  his  sister's  high  behest.  Indeed,  he  was  as  quick  at 
interpreting  brief  messages  as  people  have  grown  in  these 
latter  days  of  telegraphic  communication.     Oracular  utter- 


A  SMALL  DINNER-PARTY.  27 

ings  had  been  more  than  once  in  his  life  his  only  instructors, 
and  he  no\y  knew  that  he  had  been  peremptorily  ordered  not 
to  ask  the  Major  to  dinner. 

There  are,  doubtless,  people  in  this  world  —  I  almost 
fancy  I  have  met  one  or  two  such  myself  —  who  would  not 
have  felt  peculiar  difficulty  in  obeying  this  command ;  who 
would  have  gone  down  to  the  drawing-room  and  talked 
coolly  to  the  visitor,  discussing- commonplaces,  easily  and 
carelessly,  noting  the  while  how  at  every  pause  of  the  con- 
versation each  was  dwelling  on  the  self-same  point,  and  yet, 
with  a  quiet  abstinence,  never  touching  it,  till  with  a  sigh, 
that  was  half  a  malediction,  the  uninvited  would  rise  to  take 
leave.  Barrington  was  not  of  this  number.  The  man  who 
Bat  under  his  roof  was  sacred.  He  could  have  no  faults ; 
and  to  such  a  pitch  had  this  punctilio  carried  him,  that  had 
an  actual  enemy  gained  the  inside  of  his  threshold,  he  would 
have  spared  nothing  to  treat  him  with  honor  and  respect. 

"  Well,  well,"  muttered  he,  as  he  slowly  descended  the 
stairs,  "  it  will  be  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  ever  did  it,  and 
I  don't  know  how  to  go  about  it  now." 

When  a  frank  and  generous  man  is  about  to  do  something 
he  is  ashamed  of,  how  readily  will  a  crafty  and  less  scrupu- 
lous observer  detect  it !  M'Cormick  read  Barrington's  secret 
before  he  was  a  minute  in  the  room.  It  was  in  vain  Peter 
affected  an  off-hand  easy  manner,  incidentally  dropping  a 
hint  that  the  Attorney-General  and  another  friend  had  just 
arrived,  —  a  visit,  a  mere  business  visit  it  was,  to  be  passed 
with  law  papers  and  parchments.  "  Poor  fun  when  the 
partridges  were  in  the  stubble,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it. 
Who  knew,  however,  if  he  could  not  induce  them  to  give  him 
an  extra  day,  and  if  I  can.  Major,  you  must  promise  to  come 
over  and  meet  them.  You  '11  be  charmed  with  Withering,  he 
has  such  a  fund  of  agreeability.  One  of  the  old  school, 
but  not  the  less  delightful  to  j-ou  and  me.  Come,  now, 
give  me  your  word  —  for  —  shall  we  say  Saturday?  —  Yes, 
Saturday ! " 

"  I  've  nothing  to  say  against  it,"  grumbled  out  M'Cormick, 
whose  assent  was  given,  as  attorneys  say,  without  prejudice 
to  any  other  claim. 

"You  shall   hear  from   me  in  the    morning,  then,"  said 


28  BARRINGTON. 

Peter.  "  I  '11  send  you  a  line  to  say  what  success  I  have  had 
with  my  friends." 

"  Any  time  in  the  day  will  do,"  said  the  Major,  uncon- 
cernedly ;  for,  in  truth,  tlie  future  never  had  in  his  estima- 
tion the  same  interest  as  the  present.  As  for  the  birds  in 
the  bush,  he  simply  did  not  believe  in  them  at  all. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Barrington,  hurriedly.  "  You  shall  hear 
from  me  early,  for  I  am  anxious  you  should  meet  Withering 
and  his  companion,  too, — a  brother-soldier." 

"  Who  may  he  be?  "  asked  M'Cormick. 

"That's  my  secret.  Major,  —  that's  my  secret,"  said 
Peter,  with  a  forced  laugh,  for  it  now  wanted  but  ten 
minutes  to  six;   "but  you  shall  know  all  on  Saturday." 

Had  he  said  on  the  day  of  judgment,  the  assurance  would 
have  been  as  palatable  to  M'Cormick.  Talking  to  him  of 
Saturday  on  a  Monday  was  asking  him  to  speculate  on  the 
infinite.  Meanwhile  he  sat  on,  as  only  they  sit  who  under- 
stand the  deep  and  high  mystery  of  that  process.  Oh,  if 
you  who  have  your  fortunes  to  make  in  life,  without  any 
assignable  mode  for  so  doing,  without  a  craft,  a  calling,  or  a 
trade,  knew  what  success  there  was  to  be  achieved  merely  by 
sitting  —  by  simply  being  "there,"  eteruall}'  "there"  —  a 
warning,  an  example,  an  illustration,  a  what  you  will,  of 
boredom  or  infliction;  but  still  "there."  The  butt  of  this 
man,  the  terror  of  that,  —  hated,  feared,  trembled  at,  —  but 
j'et  recognized  as  a  thing  that  must  be,  an  institution  that 
■was,  and  is,  and  shall  be,  when  we  are  all  dead  and  buried. 

Long  and  dreary  may  be  the  days  of  the  sitter,  but  the 
hour  of  his  reward  will  come  at  last.  There  will  come  the 
time  when  some  one  —  any  one  —  will  be  wanted  to  pair  off 
with  some  other  bore,  to  listen  to  his  stories  and  make  up 
his  whist-table;  and  then  he  will  be  "there."  I  knew  a  man 
who,  merely  by  sitting  on  patiently  for  years,  was  at  last 
chosen  to  be  sent  as  a  Minister  and  special  Envoy  to  a  for- 
eign Court  just  to  get  rid  of  him.  And  for  the  women 
sitters,  —  the  well-dressed  and  prettily  got-up  simperers, 
who  have  sat  their  husbands  into  Commissionerships,  Colo- 
nial Secretaryships,  and  such  like,  —  are  they  not  written 
of  in  the  Book  of  Beauty? 

"Here's  M'Cormick,  Dinah,"  said   Barrington,  with   a 


I 


A  SMALL  DIKNER-PAETY.  29 

voice  shaking  with  agitation  and  anxiety,  "whom  I  want  to 
pledge  himself  to  us  for  Saturday  next.  Will  you  add  your 
persuasions  to  mine,  and  see  what  can  be  done?" 

"Don't  you  think  you  can  depend  upon  me?  "  cackled  out 
the  Major. 

"I  am  certain  of  it,  sir;  I  feel  your  word  like  your  bond 
on  such  a  matter,"  said  Miss  Dinah.  "My  granduiece.  Miss 
Josephine  Barringtou,"  said  she,  presenting  that  young  lady, 
who  courtesied  formally  to  the  unprepossessing  stranger. 

"I'm  proud  of  the  honor,  ma'am,"  said  M'Cormick, 
with  a  deep  bow,  and  resumed  his  seat;  to  rise  again, 
however,  as  Withering  entered  the  room  and  was  intro- 
duced to  him. 

"This  is  intolerable,  Peter,"  whispered  Miss  Barrington, 
while  the  lawyer  and  the  Major  were  talking  together. 
"  You  are  certain  you  have  not  asked  him  ?  " 

"On  my  honor,  Dinah!  on  my  honor!  " 

"I  hope  I  am  not  late?"  cried  Stapylton,  entering;  then 
turning  hastily  to  Barrington,  said,  "Pray  present  me  to 
your  niece." 

"This  is  my  sister.  Major  Stapylton;  this  is  m}^  grand- 
daughter;" and  the  ladies  courtesied,  each  with  a  degree  of 
satisfaction  which  the  reader  shall  be  left  to  assign  them. 

After  a  few  words  of  commonplace  civility,  uttered,  how- 
ever, with  a  courtesy  and  tact  which  won  their  way  for 
the  speaker,  Stapj'lton  recognized  and  shook  hands  with 
M'Cormick. 

"You  know  my  neighbor,  then?  "  said  Barrington,  in  some 
surprise. 

"I  am  charmed  to  say  I  do;  he  owes  me  the  denouement 
of  a  most  amusing  story,  which  was  suddenly  broken  off 
when  we  last  parted,  but  which  I  shall  certainly  claim  after 
dinner." 

"He  has  been  kind  enough  to  engage  himself  to  us  for 
Saturday,"  began  Dinah.  But  M'Cormick,  who  saw  the 
moment  critical,  stepped  in,  — 

"You  shall  hear  every  word  of  it  before  you  sleep.  It's 
all  about  Walcheren,  though  they  think  Waterloo  more  the 
fashion  now." 

"Just  as  this  young  lady  might  fancy  Major  Stapylton  a 


30  BARRINGTON. 

more  interesting  event  than  one  of  us,"  said  AVithering, 
laughing.  "But  what 's  become  of  3'our  boasted  punctu- 
ality, Barrington?  A  quarter  past, — are  you  waiting  for 
any  one?" 

"Are  we,  Dinah?"  asked  Barrington,  with  a  look  of 
sheepishness. 

"Not  that  I  am  aware  of,  Peter.  There  is  no  one  to 
come ;  "  and  she  laid  such  an  emphasis  on  the  word  as  made 
the  significance  palpable. 

To  Barrington  it  was  painful  as  well  as  palpable;  so 
painful,  indeed,  that  he  hurriedly  rang  the  bell,  sa^-ing,  in  a 
sharp  voice,  "Of  course,  we  are  all  here,  — there  are  six  of 
us.     Dinner,  Darby !  " 

The  3Iajor  had  won,  but  he  was  too  crafty  to  show  any 
triumph  at  his  victory,  and  he  did  not  dare  even  to  look 
towards  where  Miss  Barrington  stood,  lest  he  should  chance 
to  catch  her  eye.  Dinner  was  at  length  announced.  With- 
ering gave  his  arm  to  Miss  Barrington,  Stapylton  took 
charge  of  Josephine,  and  old  Peter,  j^leasantly  drawing  his 
arm  within  M'Cormick's,  said,  "I  hope  you  've  got  a  good 
appetite,  Major,  for  I  have  a  rare  fish  for  you  to-day,  and 
your  favorite  sauce,  too, — smelt,  not  lobster." 

Poor  Barrington !  it  was  a  trying  moment  for  him,  that 
short  walk  into  the  dinner-room,  and  he  felt  very  grateful  to 
M'Cormick  that  he  said  nothing  peevish  or  sarcastic  to  him 
on  the  way.  Many  a  dinner  begins  in  awkwardness,  but 
warms  as  it  proceeds  into  a  pleasant  geniality.  Such  was 
the  case  here.  Amongst  those,  besides,  who  have  not  the 
ties  of  old  friendship  between  them,  or  have  not  as  yet 
warmed  into  that  genial  good-fellowship  which  is,  so  to  say, 
its  foster-brother,  a  character  of  the  M'Cormick  class  is 
not  so  damaging  an  element  as  might  be  imagined,  and  at 
times  there  is  a  positive  advantage  in  having  one  of  whose 
merits,  by  a  tacit  understanding,  all  are  quite  agreed. 
Withering  and  Stapylton  both  read  the  man  at  once,  and 
drew  out  his  salient  points  —  his  parsimony,  his  malice,  and 
his  prying  curiosity  —  in  various  ways,  but  so  neatly  and 
so  advisedly  as  to  make  him  fancy  he  was  the  attacking 
party,  and  very  successful,  too,  in  his  assaults  upon  the 
enemy.     Even  Barrington,  in  the  honest  simplicity  of  his 


A   SMALL   DINNER-PARTY.  31 

nature,  was  taken  in,  and  more  than  once  thought  that  the 
old  Major  was  too  severe  upon  the  others,  and  sat  in  won- 
dering admiration  of  their  self-command  and  good  temper. 
No  deception  of  this  sort  prevailed  with  Miss  Barriugton, 
who  enjoj-ed  to  the  fullest  extent  the  subtle  raillery  with 
which  they  induced  him  to  betray  every  meanness  of  his 
nature,  and  yet  never  suffered  the  disclosure  to  soar  above 
the  region  of  the  ludicrous. 

"You  have  been  rather  hard  upon  them,  Major,"  said 
Barrington,  as  they  strolled  about  on  the  greensward  after 
dinner  to  enjo}"  their  coffee  and  a  cigar.  "Don't  you  think 
you  have  been  a  shade  too  severe  ?  " 

"It  will  do  them  good.  They  wanted  to  turn  me  out  like 
a  bagged  fox,  and  show  the  ladies  some  sport ;  but  I  taught 
them  a  thing  or  two." 

"No,  no,  M'Cormick,  you  wrong  them  there;  they  had 
no  such  intentions,  believe  me." 

"I  know  that  you  didn't  see  it,"  said  he,  with  emphasis, 
"but  your  sister  did,  and  liked  it  well,,  besides;  ay,  and  the 
young  one  joined  in  the  fun.  And,  after  all,  I  don't  see 
that  they  got  much  by  the  victory,  for  "Withering  was  not 
pleased  at  my  little  hit  about  the  days  when  he  used  to  be  a 
Whig  and  spout  liberal  politics;  and  the  other  liked  just  as 
little  my  remark  about  the  fellows  in  the  Company's  service, 
and  how  nobody  knew  who  they  were  or  where  they  came 
from.  He  was  in  the  Madras  army  himself,  but  I  pretended 
not  to  know  it;  but  I  found  his  name  written  on  the  leaf  of 
an  old  book  he  gave  me,  and  the  regiment  he  was  in:  and 
did  you  see  how  he  looked  when  I  touched  on  it?  But  here 
he  comes  now." 

"Make  j'our  peace  with  him,  M'Cormick,  make  your 
peace!"  said  Barrington,  as  he  moved  away,  not  soi'ry,  as 
he  went,  to  mark  the  easy  familiarity  with  which  Stapylton 
drew  his  arm  within  the  other's,  and  walked  along  at  his 
side. 

"Wasn't  that  a  wonderful  dinner  we  had  to-day,  from 
a  man  that  hasn't  a  cross  in  his  pocket?"  croaked  out 
M'Cormick  to  Stap3'lton. 

"Is  it  possible? " 

"  Sherry  and  Madeira  after*  your  soup,  then  Sauterne,  —  a 


32  BARRINGTON. 

thing  I  don't  care  for  any  more  than  the  oyster  patties  it 
came  with;  champagne  next,  and  in  tumblers  too!  Do 
you  ever  see  it  better  done  at  your  mess?  Or  where  did 
you  ever  taste  a  finer  glass  of  claret?" 

"It  was  all  admirable." 

"There  was  only  one  thing  forgotten,  — not  that  it  signi- 
fies to  tis." 

"And  what  might  that  be?  " 

"It  wasn't  paid  for!     No,  nor  will  it  ever  be!  " 

"You  amaze  me,  Major.  My  impression  was  that  our 
friend  here  was,  without  being  ricli,  in  very  comfortable 
circumstances;  able  to  live  handsomelj',  while  he  carried 
on  a  somewhat  costly  suit." 

"That's  the  greatest  folly  of  all,"  broke  out  M'Cormick; 
"and  it's  to  get  money  for  that  now  that  he's  going  to 
mortgage  this  place  here,  —  ay,  the  very  ground  under  our 
feet!  "  And  this  he  said  with  a  sort  of  tremulous  indigna- 
tion, as  though  the  atrocity  bore  especially  hard  upon  them. 
"Kinshela,  the  attorney  from  Kilkenny,  was  up  with  me 
about  it  yesterday.  'It's  an  elegant  investment.  Major,' 
says  he,  '  and  you  're  verj'  likel}'  to  get  the  place  into  your 
hands  for  all  the  chance  old  Peter  has  of  paying  off  the 
charge.  His  heart  is  in  that  suit,  and  he  '11  not  stop  as  long 
as  he  has  a  guinea  to  go  on  with  it.' 

"I  said,  '  I  'd  think  of  it:  I  'd  turn  it  over  in  my  mind; ' 
for  there  's  various  ways  of  looking  at  it." 

"I  fancy  I  apprehend  one  of  them,"  said  Stapylton,  with 
a  half-jocular  glance  at  his  companion.  "You  have  been 
reflecting  over  another  investment,  eh?  Am  I  not  right? 
I  remarked  you  at  dinner.  I  saw  how  the  young  brunette 
had  struck  5'ou,  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  She  has  made  a  con- 
quest alread}'! '  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it;  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  INI'Cormick, 
awkwardly.     "I'm  too  'cute  to  be  caught  that  way." 

"Yes,  but  remember  it  might  be  a  very  good  catch.  I 
don't  speak  of  the  suit,  because  I  agree  with  you,  the 
chances  in  that  direction  are  very^  small,  indeed,  and  I 
cannot  understand  the  hopeful  feeling  with  which  he  prose- 
cutes it;  but  she  is  a  fine,  handsome  girl,  very  attractive 
in  manner,  and  equal  to  any  station." 


A  SMALL  DINNER-PARTY.  33 

"And  what 's  the  good  of  all  that  to  me?  Would  n't  it 
be  better  if  she  could  make  a  pease-pudding,  like  Polly 
Dill,  or  know  how  to  fatten  a  turkey,  or  salt  down  a  side 
of  bacon  ? " 

"I  don't  think  so;  I  declare,  I  don't  think  so,"  said 
Stapylton,  as  he  lighted  a  fresh  cigar.  "These  are  house- 
hold cares,  and  to  be  bought  with  money,  and  not  expen- 
sively, either.  What  a  man  like  you  or  I  wants  is  one  who 
should  give  a  sort  of  tone,  —  impart  a  degree  of  elegance  to 
his  daily  life.  We  old  bachelors  grow  into  self-indulgence, 
which  is  only  another  name  for  barbarism.  With  a  mis- 
taken idea  of  comfort  we  neglect  scores  of  little  observ- 
ances which  constitute  the  small  currency  of  civilization, 
and  without  which  all  intercourse  is  unpleasing  and 
ungraceful." 

"I'm  not  quite  sure  that  I  understand  you  aright,  but 
there 's  one  thing  I  know,  I  'd  think  twice  of  it  before  I  'd  ask 
that  young  woman  to  be  Mrs.  M'Cormick.  And,  besides," 
added  he,  with  a  sly  side-look,  "if  it 's  so  good  a  thing,  why 
don't  you  think  of  it  for  yourself? " 

"I  need  not  tell  an  old  soldier  like  yon  that  full  pay  and 
a  wife  are  incompatible.  Every  wise  man's  experience 
shows  it;  and  when  a  fellow  goes  to  the  bishop  for  a  license, 
he  should  send  in  his  papers  to  the  Horse  Guards.  Now, 
I  'm  too  poor  to  give  up  my  career.  I  have  not,  like  you,  a 
charming  cottage  on  a  river's  bank,  and  a  swelling  lawn 
dotted  over  with  my  own  sheep  before  my  door.  I  cannot 
put  off  the  harness. " 

"Who  talks  of  putting  off  the  harness?  "  cried  Withering, 
gayly,  as  he  joined  them.  "Who  ever  dreamed  of  doing 
anything  so  ill-judging  and  so  mistaken?  Why,  if  it  were 
only  to  hide  the  spots  where  the  collar  has  galled  you,  you 
ought  to  wear  the  trappings  to  the  last.  No  man  ever  knew 
how  to  idle,  who  had  n't  passed  all  his  life  at  it!  Some  go 
so  far  as  to  say  that  for  real  success  a  man's  father  and 
grandfather  should  have  been  idlers  before  him.  But  have 
you  seen  Barrington?  He  has  been  looking  for  you  all 
over  the  grounds." 

"No,"  said  Stapylton;  "n^y  old  brother-officer  and  my- 

VOL.   II.  —  3 


84  BARRINGTON. 

self  got  into  pipeclay  and  barrack  talk,  and  strolled  away 
down  here  unconsciously." 

"Well,  we  'd  better  not  be  late  for  tea,"  broke  in  the  Major, 
"or  we'll  hear  of  it  from  Miss  Dinah!"  And  there  was 
something  so  comic  in  the  seriousness  of  his  tone,  that  they 
laughed  heartily  as  they  turned  towards  the  house. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   MOVE   IN    ADVANCE. 

How  pleasantly  did  the  next  day  break  on  the  "Home"! 
Polly  Dill  arrived  in  the  best  of  possible  spirits.  A  few 
lines  from  Tom  had  just  reached  them.  They  were  written 
at  sea;  but  the  poor  fellow's  notions  of  latitude  and  lon- 
gitude were  so  confused  that  it  was  not  easy  to  say  from 
whence.  They  were  cheery,  however,  he  was  in  good  health, 
his  comrades  were  kind-hearted  creatures,  and  evidently 
recognized  in  him  one  of  a  station  above  their  own.  He 
said  that  he  could  have  been  appointed  hospital  sergeant  if 
he  liked,  but  that  whatever  reminded  him  of  his  old  calling 
was  so  distasteful  that  he  preferred  remaining  as  he  was, 
the  rather  as  he  was  given  to  believe  he  should  soon  be 
a  corporal. 

"Not that  I  mean  to  stop  there,  Polly;  and  now  that  I  haven't 
got  to  study  for  it,  I  feel  a  courage  as  to  the  future  I  never  knew 
before.  Give  my  love  to  'Mr.  Conyers,  and  say  that  I  'm  never  tired 
of  thinking  over  the  last  night  I  saw  him,  and  of  all  his  good  nature 
to  me,  and  that  I  hope  I  '11  see  his  father  some  day  or  other  to  thank 
him.  I  suppose  father  does  n't  miss  me?  I  'm  sure  mother  does  n't; 
and  it 's  only  yourself,  Polly,  will  ever  feel  a  heavy  heart  for  the 
poor  castaway !  But  cheer  up  !  for  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Tom,  I  '11 
not  bring  discredit  on  you,  and  you  '11  not  be  ashamed  to  take  my 
arm  down  the  main  street  when  we  meet.  I  must  close  now,  for  the 
boat  is  going. 

"  P.  S.  I  dreamed  last  night  you  rode  Sid  Davis's  brown  mare 
over  the  Millrace  at  Graigue.  Would  n't  it  be  strange  if  it  came 
true?     I  wish  I  could  know  it." 

"May  I  show  this  to  my  friend  here,  Polly?"  said  Bar- 
rington,  pointing  to  Withering.     "It 's  a  letter  he  'd  like  to 


86  BARIUXGTON. 

read;'*  and  as  she  nodded  assent,  be  handed  it  across  the 
breakfast-table. 

"AVbat  is  your  brother's  regiment,  Miss  Dill?"  said 
Stapyltou,  who  had  just  caught  a  stray  word  or  two  of  Avhat 
passed. 

"The  Forty-ninth." 

"The  Forty-ninth,"  said  he,  repeating  the  words  once  or 
twice.  "Let  me  see,  —  don't  I  know  some  Forty-ninth  men  ? 
To  be  sure  I  do.  There  's  Reptou  and  Hare.  Your  brother 
will  be  delighted  with  Hare." 

"My  brother  is  in  the  ranks,  Major  Stapylton,"  said 
she,  flushing  a  deep  scarlet;  and  Barrington  quickly  inter- 
posed, — 

"It  was  the  wild  frolic  of  a  young  man  to  escape  a  pro- 
fession he  had  no  mind  for." 

"But  in  foreign  armies  every  one  does  it,"  broke  in 
Stapylton,  hurriedly.  "No  matter  what  a  man's  rank  may 
be,  he  must  carry  the  musket ;  and  I  own  I  like  the  practice, 
—  if  for  nothing  else  for  that  fine  spirit  of  camaraderie 
which  it  engenders." 

Fifine's  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure  at  what  she  deemed 
the  well-bred  readiness  of  this  speech,  while  Polly  became 
deadly  pale,  and  seemed  with  difficulty  to  repress  the  repartee 
that  rose  to  her  mind.  Not  so  Miss  Dinah,  who  promptly 
said,  "No  foreign  customs  can  palliate  a  breach  of  our 
habits.  We  are  English,  and  we  don't  desire  to  be  French- 
men or  Germans." 

"Might  we  not  occasionally  borrow  from  our  neighbors 
with  advantage?"  asked  Stapylton,  blandly. 

"I  agree  with  Miss  Barrington,"  said  Withering, — "I 
agree  with  Miss  Barrington,  whose  very  prejudices  are 
always  right.  An  army  formed  by  a  conscription  which 
exempts  no  man  is  on  a  totally  different  footing  from  one 
derived  from  voluntary  enlistment." 

"A  practice  that  some  say  should  be  reserved  for  mar- 
riage," said  Barrington,  whose  happy  tact  it  was  to  relieve 
a  discussion  by  a  ready  joke. 

They  arose  from  table  soon  after,  —  Polly  to  accompany 
Miss  Barrington  over  the  garden  and  the  shrubberies,  and 
show  all  that  had  been  done  in  their  absence,  and  all  that 


A  MOVE   IN  ADVANCE.  37 

she  yet  iutended  to  do,  if  approved  of;  Withering  adjourned 
to  Barriugton's  study  to  pore  over  parchments;  and  Stapyl- 
ton,  after  vainly  seeking  to  find  Josephine  in  the  drawing- 
room,  the  flower-garden,  or  the  lawn,  betook  himself  with  a 
book,  the  first  he  could  find  on  the  table,  to  the  river's  side, 
and  lay  down,  less  to  read  than  to  meditate  and  reflect. 

A  breezy  morning  of  a  fine  day  in  early  autumn,  with 
slow  sailing  clouds  above  and  a  flickering  sunlight  on  the 
grass  below,  besides  a  rippling  river,  whose  banks  are  glow- 
ing with  blue  and  purple  heath-bells,  —  all  these  and  a 
Waverley  novel  were  not  enough  to  distract  Stapyltou  from 
the  cares  that  pressed  upon  his  mind;  for  so  it  is,  look 
where  we  may  on  those  whom  Fortune  would  seem  to  have 
made  her  especial  favorites,  and  we  shall  find  some  unsatis- 
fied ambition,  some  craving  wish  doomed  to  disappointment, 
some  hope  deferred  till  the  heart  that  held  it  has  ceased  to 
care  for  its  accomplishment.  To  the  world's  eyes,  here  was 
a  man  eminently  fortunate:  already  high  up  in  the  service, 
with  health,  vigor,  and  good  looks,  a  reputation  established 
for  personal  gallantry  in  the  field,  and  an  amount  of 
capacity  that  had  already  won  for  him  more  than  one  dis- 
tinction, and  yet  all  these,  great  and  solid  advantages  as 
they  are,  were  not  sufficient  to  give  the  ease  of  mind  we  call 
happiness. 

He  had  debts,  some  of  them  heavy  debts,  but  these  sat 
lightly  on  him.  He  was  one  of  those  men  creditors  never 
crush,  some  secret  consciousness  seeming  to  whisper  that, 
however  ill  the  world  may  go  with  them  for  a  while,  in  the 
long  run  they  must  triumph;  and  thus  Mr.  Hirman  Davis, 
to  whom  he  owed  thousands,  would  have  cashed  him  another 
bill  to-morrow,  all  on  the  faith  of  that  future  which  Stapylton 
talked  about  with  the  careless  confidence  of  a  mind  assured. 

He  had  enemies,  too,  — powerful  and  determined  enemies, 
—  who  opposed  his  advancement  for  many  a  year,  and  were 
still  adverse  to  him;  but,  like  the  creditors,  they  felt  he 
was  not  a  man  to  be  crushed,  and  so  he  and  his  ill-wishers 
smiled  blandly  when  they  met,  exchanged  the  most  cordial 
gi'eetings,  and  even  imparted  little  confidences  of  their 
several  fortunes  with  all  that  well-bred  duplicity  which  so 
simulates  friendship. 


S8  BARRINGTON. 

He  bad  been  crossed,  —  no,  not  in  love,  but  in  his  ambi- 
tion to  marry  one  greatly  above  him  in  station;  but  her 
subsequent  marriage  had  been  so  unfortunate  that  he  felt 
in  part  recompensed  for  the  slight  she  passed  upon  him; 
so  that,  taking  it  all  and  all,  fate  had  never  been  cruel  to 
him  without  a  compensation. 

There  are  men  who  feel  their  whole  existence  to  be  a 
hand-to-hand  struggle  with  the  world,  who  regard  the  world 
as  an  adversary  to  be  worsted,  and  all  whose  efforts  are 
devoted  to  reach  that  point  upon  which  they  can  turn  round 
and  say,  "You  see  that  I  have  won  the  game.  I  was  un- 
known, and  I  am  famous;  I  was  poor,  and  I  am  rich;  I 
was  passed  over  and  ignored,  and  now  the  very  highest  are 
proud  to  recognize  me! "  Stapylton  was  one  of  these.  All 
the  egotism  of  his  nature  took  this  form,  and  it  was  far 
more  in  a  spirit  against  his  fellows  than  in  any  indulgence 
of  himself  he  fought  and  struggled  with  Fortune.  Intrusted 
by  Withering  with  much  of  the  secret  history  of  Barring- 
ton's  claim  against  the  India  Company,  he  had  learned 
considerabl}'  more  through  inquiries  instituted  by  himself, 
and  at  length  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  if  old  Barring- 
ton  could  be  persuaded  to  limit  his  demands  within  moder- 
ate bounds,  and  not  insist  upon  the  details  of  that  personal 
reparation  Avhich  he  assumed  so  essential  to  his  son's  honor, 
a  very  ample  recompense  would  not  be  refused  him.  It  was 
to  induce  Barrington  to  take  this  course  Stap3'lton  had  con- 
sented to  come  down  with  Withering,  —  so,  at  least,  he  said, 
and  so  Withering  believed.  Old  lawj-er  that  he  was,  with  a 
hundred  instincts  of  distrust  about  him,  he  had  conceived  a 
real  liking  for  Stapylton,  and  a  great  confidence  in  his  judg- 
ment. "We  shall  have  to  divide  our  labors  here.  Major," 
said  he,  as  they  travelled  along  together;  "I  will  leave  the 
ladies  to  your  care.  Barrington  shall  be  mine."  A  very 
brief  acquaintance  with  Miss  Dinah  satisfied  Stapylton  that 
she  was  one  to  require  nice  treatment,  and  what  he  called 
"a  very  light  hand."  The  two  or  three  little  baits  he  had 
thrown  out  took  nothing;  the  stray  bits  of  sentimentality, 
or  chance  scraps  of  high-toned  principle  he  had  addressed 
to  her,  had  failed.  It  was  only  when  he  had  with  some 
sharpness    hit  off   some   small    meanness    in   M'Cormick's 


A  MOVE   IN  ADVANCE.  39 

nature  that  she  had  even  vouchsafed  him  so  much  as  a  half- 
smile  of  approval,  and  he  saw  that  even  then  she  watched 
him  closely. 

"No,"  said  he,  half  aloud  to  himself,  "that  old  woman 
is  not  one  easily  to  be  dealt  with ;  and  the  younger  one,  too, 
would  have  a  will  of  her  own  if  she  had  but  the  way  to  use 
it.  If  Polly  had  been  in  her  place,  —  the  clever,  quick- 
witted Polly,  —  she  would  have  gone  with  me  in  my  plans, 
associated  herself  in  all  my  projects,  and  assured  their  suc- 
cess. Oh  for  a  good  colleague  just  to  keep  the  boat's  head 
straight  when  one  is  weary  of  rowing !  " 

"Would  I  do?"  said  a  low  voice  near.  And,  on  looking 
up,  he  saw  Josephine  standing  over  him,  with  an  arch  smile 
on  her  face  as  though  she  had  surprised  him  in  a  confession. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  there?  "  asked  he,  hurriedly. 

"A  few  seconds." 

"  And  what  have  you  heard  me  say  ?  " 

"  That  you  wanted  a  colleague,  or  a  companion  of  some 
sort;  and  as  I  was  the  only  useless  person  here,  I  offered 
myself." 

"In  good  faith?" 

"In  good  faith! — why  not?  I  am  more  likely  to  gain 
by  the  association  than  you  are ;  at  least,  if  you  can 
only  be  as  pleasant  of  a  morning  as  you  were  yesterday  at 
dinner." 

"  I  '11  tr}^"  said  he,  springing  to  his  feet ;  "  and  as  a  suc- 
cess in  these  efforts  is  mainly  owing  to  the  amount  of  zeal 
that  animates  them,  I  am  hopeful." 

"  Which  means  a  flattery  at  the  outset,"  said  she,  smiling. 

"  OnW  as  much  as  your  friend  Mr.  Withering  would  throw 
out  to  dispose  the  court  in  his  favor ;  and  now,  which  way 
shall  we  walk?     Are  you  to  be  the  guide,  or  I? " 

"You,  by  all  means,  since  you  know  nothing  of  the 
locality." 

"  Agreed.  Well,  here  is  my  plan.  We  cross  the  river  in 
this  boat,  and  take  that  path  yonder  that  leads  up  by  the 
waterfall.  I  know,  from  the  dark  shadow  of  the  mountain, 
that  there  is  a  deep  glen,  very  wild,  very  romantic,  and  very 
solemn,  through  which  I  mean  to  conduct  you." 

"  All  this  means  a  very  long  excursion,  does  it  not?  " 


40  BARRINGTON. 

"  You  have  just  told  me  that  you  were  free  from  all 
engagement." 

"  Yes ;  but  not  from  all  control.  I  must  ask  Aunt  Dinah's 
leave  before  I  set  out  on  this  notable  expedition." 

"  Do  nothing  of  the  kind.  It  would  be  to  make  a  caprice 
seem  a  plan.  Let  us  go  where  you  will,  —  here,  along  the 
river's  side ;  anywhere,  so  that  we  may  affect  to  think  that 
we  are  free  agents,  and  not  merely  good  children  sent  out 
for  a  walk." 

"What  a  rebel  against  authority  you  are  for  one  so  des- 
potic yourself !  " 

' '  I  despotic !     Who  ever  called  me  so  ?  " 

"  Your  officers  say  as  much." 

"  I  know  from  what  quarter  that  came,"  said  he  ;  and  his 
bronzed  face  grew  a  shade  deeper.  "  That  dilettante  soldier, 
young  Conyers,  has  given  me  this  character ;  but  I  'd  rather 
talk  of  you  than  myself.  Tell  me  all  about  your  life.  Is  it 
as  delightful  as  everything  around  would  bespeak  it?  Are 
these  trees  and  flowers,  this  sunny  bank,  this  perfumed 
sward,  true  emblems  of  the  existence  they  embellish,  or  is 
Paradise  only  a  cheat?" 

'*  I  don't  think  so.  I  think  Paradise  is  very  like  what  it 
looks,  not  but  I  own  that  the  garden  is  pleasanter  with  guests 
in  it  than  when  only  Adam  and  Eve  were  there.  Mr.  With- 
ering is  charming,  and  you  can  be  very  agreeable." 

"  I  would  I  knew  how  to  be  so,"  said  he,  seriousl3%  "  just 
at  this  moment;  for  I  am  going  away  from  Ireland,  and  I 
am  very  desirous  of  leaving  a  good  impression  behind  me." 

"■  What  could  it  signify  to  you  how  you  were  thought  of 
in  this  lonely  spot?" 

"  More  than  you  suspect,  — more  than  you  would,  perhaps, 
credit,"  said  he,  feelingly. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  during  which  they  walked  along 
side  by  side. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?  "  said  she,  at  last. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  a  strange  thing,  —  it  was  this  :  About 
a  week  ago  there  was  no  effort  I  was  not  making  to  obtain 
the  command  of  my  regiment.  I  wanted  to  be  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  ;  and  so  bent  was  I  on  gaining  my  object,  that  if 
giving  away  three  or  four  years  of  that  life  that  I  may  hope 


A  MOVE   IN  ADVANCE.  41 

for  would  have  done  it,  I  'd  have  closed  the  bargain ;  and 
now  the  ambition  is  gone,  and  I  am  speculating  whether  I  '11 
not  take  the  cottage  of  j-our  friend  Major  M'Cormick,  —  he 
offered  it  to  me  last  night,  —  and  become  your  neighbor. 
What  say  you  to  the  project?  " 

"  For  us  the  exchange  will  be  all  a  gain." 

"  I  want  your  opinion,  —  your  own,"  said  he,  with  a  voice 
reduced  to  a  mere  whisper. 

"I'd  like  it  of  all  things  ;  although,  if  I  were  your  sister 
or  your  daughter,  I  'd  not  counsel  it." 

"And  why  not,  if  you  were  my  sister?"  said  he,  with  a 
certain  constraint  in  his  manner. 

"I'd  sa}'  it  was  inglorious  to  change  from  the  noble 
activity  of  a  soldier's  life  to  come  and  dream  away  existence 
here." 

"  But  what  if  I  have  done  enough  for  this  same  thing  men 
call  fame  ?  I  have  had  my  share  of  campaigning,  and  as  the 
world  looks  there  is  wondrous  little  prospect  of  any  renewal 
of  it.  These  peace  achievements  suit  your  friend  Conyers 
better  than  me." 

"I  think  you  are  not  just  to  him.  If  I  read  him  aright, 
he  is  burning  for  an  occasion  to  distinguish  himself." 

A  cold  shrug  of  the  shoulders  was  his  only  acknowl- 
edgment of  this  speech,  and  again  a  silence  fell  between 
them. 

"I  would  rather  talk  oi  you^  if  you  would  let  me,"  said 
he,  with  much  significance  of  voice  and  manner.  "  Say 
would  you  like  to  have  me  for  your  neighbor?" 

"  It  would  be  a  pleasant  exchange  for  Major  M'Cormick," 
said  she,  laughing. 

"  I  want  you  to  be  serious  now.  What  I  am  asking  you 
interests  me  too  deeply  to  jest  over." 

"  First  of  all,  is  the  project  a  serious  one?  " 

"It  is." 

"  Next,  why  ask  advice  from  one  as  inexperienced  as  I 
am?" 

"  Because  it  is  not  counsel  I  ask,  —  it  is  something  more. 
Don't  look  surprised,  and,  above  all,  don't  look  angry,  but 
listen  to  me.  What  I  have  said  now,  and  what  more  I  would 
say,  might  more  properly  have  been  uttered  when  we  had 


42  BAKRINGTON. 

known  each  other  longer ;  but  there  are  emergencies  in  life 
which  give  no  time  for  slow  approaches,  and  there  are  men, 
too,  that  they  suit  not.  Imagine  such  now  before  you,  —  I 
mean,  both  the  moment  and  the  man.  Imagine  one  who  has 
gone  through  a  great  deal  in  life,  seen,  heard,  and  felt  much, 
and  yet  never  till  now,  never  till  this  very  morning,  under- 
stood what  it  was  to  know  one  whose  least  word  or  passing 
look  was  more  to  hiin  than  ambition,  higher  than  all  the 
rewards  of  glory." 

"We  never  met  till  yesterday,"  said  she,  calmly. 

"True;  and  if  we  part  to-morrow,  it  will  be  forever.  I 
feel  too  painfully,"  added  he,  with  more  eagerness,  "  how  I 
compromise  all  that  I  value  by  an  avowal  abrupt  and  rash  as 
this  is ;  but  I  have  had  no  choice.  I  have  been  offered  the 
command  of  a  native  force  in  India,  and  must  give  my 
answer  at  once.  With  hope  —  the  very  faintest,  so  that  it 
be  hope  —  I  will  refuse.  Remember  I  want  no  pledge,  no 
promise ;  all  I  entreat  is  that  you  will  regard  me  as  one  who 
seeks  to  win  your  favor.     Let  time  do  the  rest." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  ought  to  do  this  —  T  do  not  know  if  you 
should  ask  it." 

"May  I  speak  to  your  grandfather — may  I  tell  him 
what  I  have  told  you  —  may  I  say,  '  It  is  with  Josephine's 
permission  — ' " 

"  I  am  called  Miss  Barrington,  sir,  by  all  but  those  of  my 

own  family." 

"  Forgive  me,  I  entreat  you,"  said  he,  with  a  deep 
humility  in  his  tone.  "  I  had  never  so  far  forgotten  myself 
if  calm  reason  had  not  deserted  me.     I  will  not  transgress 

again." 

"This  is  the  shortest  way  back  to  the  cottage,"  said  she, 
turning  into  a  narrow  path  in  the  wood. 

"It  does  not  lead  to  my  hope,"  said  he,  despondingly ; 
and  no  more  was  uttered  between  them  for  some  paces. 

"Do  not  walk  so  very  fast.  Miss  Barrington,"  said  he,  in 
a  tone  which  trembled  slightly.  "  In  the  few  minutes  —  the 
seconds  you  could  accord  me  —  I  might  build  the  whole  for- 
tune of  my  life.  I  have  already  endangered  my  hopes  by 
rashness ;  let  me  own  that  it  is  the  fault  I  have  struggled 
against  in  vain.     This   scar"— and    he    showed    the    deep 


A  MOVE  IN  ADVANCE.  43 

mark  of  a  sabre-wound  on  the  temple  —  '  '■  was  the  price  of 
one  of  my  offendiugs ;  but  it  was  light  in  suffering  to  what  I 
am  now  enduring." 

"  Can  we  not  talk  of  what  will  exact  no  such  sacrifice?  " 
said  she,  calmly. 

"  Not  now,  not  now !  "  said  he,  with  emotion ;  "if  you 
pass  that  porch  without  giving  me  an  answer,  life  has  no 
longer  a  tie  for  me.  You  know  that  I  ask  for  no  pledge, 
no  promise,  merely  time,  — no  more  than  time,  —  a  few  more 
of  those  moments  of  which  you  now  would  seem  eager 
to  deny  me.  Linger  an  instant  here,  I  beseech  you,  and 
remember  that  what  to  you  may  be  a  caprice  may  to  me  be 
a  destinj'." 

"  I  will  not  hear  more  of  this,"  said  she,  half  angrily. 
*'If  it  were  not  for  my  own  foolish  trustfulness,  you  never 
would  have  dared  to  address  such  words  to  one  whom  you 
met  yesterday  for  the  first  time." 

"It  is  true  your  generous  frankness,  the  nature  they 
told  me  you  inherited,  gives  me  boldness,  but  it  might  teach 
you  to  have  some  pity  for  a  disposition  akin  to  it.  One 
word,  —  only  one  word  more." 

"  Not  one,  sir!  The  lesson  my  frankness  has  taught  me 
is,  never  to  incur  this  peril  again." 

"  Do  you  part  from  me  in  anger?  " 

"Not  with  you ;  but  I  will  not  answer  for  myself  if  you 
press  me  further." 

"  Even  this  much  is  better  than  despair,"  said  he,  mourn- 
fully;  and  she  passed  into  the  cottage,  while  he  stood  in 
the  porch  and  bowed  respectfully  as  she  went  by.  "Better 
than  I  looked  for,  better  than  I  could  have  hoped,"  muttered 
he  to  himself,  as  he  strolled  away  and  disappeared  in  the 
wood. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   CABINET   COUNCIL. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Dinah?"  said  Barrington,  as 
they  sat  in  conclave  the  next  morning  in  her  own  sitting- 
room. 

She  laid  down  a  letter  she  had  just  finished  reading  on 
the  table,  carefully  folding  it,  like  one  trying  to  gain  time 
before  she  spoke:  ''He's  a  clever  man,  and  writes  well, 
Peter;   there  can  be  no  second  opinion  upon  that." 

''But  his  proposal,  Dinah,  —  his  proposal?  " 

"  Pleases  me  less  the  more  I  think  of  it.  There  is  great 
disparity  of  age,  —  a  wide  discrepancy  in  character.  A 
certain  gravity  of  demeanor  would  not  be  undesirable, 
perhaps,  in  a  husband  for  Josephine,  who  has  her  moments 
of  capricious  fancy ;  but  if  I  mistake  not,  this  man's  nature 
is  stern  and  unbending." 

"There  will  be  time  enough  to  consider  all  that,  Dinah. 
It  is,  in  fact,  to  weigh  well  the  chances  of  his  fitness  to 
secure  her  happiness  that  he  pleads ;  he  asks  permission 
to  make  himself  known  to  her,  rather  than  to  make  his 
court." 

"I  used  to  fancy  that  they  meant  the  same  thing,  —  I 
know  that  they  did  in  my  day,  Peter,"  said  she,  bridling; 
"  but  come  to  the  plain  question  before  us.  So  far  as  I 
understand  him,  his  position  is  this :  '  If  I  satisfy  you 
that  my  rank  and  fortune  are  satisfactory  to  you,  have  I 
your  permission  to  come  back  here  as  your  granddaughter's 
Alitor?'" 

"  Not  precisely,  Dinah,  — not  exactly  this.  Here  are  his 
words :  '  I  am  well  aware  that  I  am  much  older  than  Miss 
Barrington,  and  it  is  simply  to  ascertain  from  herself  if, 
in  that   disparity  of   years,  there   exists   that  disparity  of 


A   CABINET   COUNCIL.  45 

tastes  and  temper  which  would  indispose  her  to  regard  me 
as  cue  to  whom  she  would  intrust  her  happiness.  I  hope 
to  do  this  without  any  offence  to  her  delicacy,  though  not 
without  peril  to  my  own  self-love.  Have  I  your  leave  for 
this  experiment?'" 

"Who  is  he?  Who  are  his  friends,  connections,  belong- 
ings? What  is  his  station  independently  of  his  military 
rank,  and  what  are  his  means?  Can  j^ou  answer  these 
questions  ?  " 

"Not  one  of  them.  I  never  found  myself  till  to-day  in  a 
position  to  inquire  after  them." 

"Let  us  begin,  then,  by  that  investigation,  Peter.  There 
is  no  such  test  of  a  man  as  to  make  him  talk  of  himself. 
With  you  alone  the  matter,  perhaps,  would  not  present  much 
diflBculty  to  him,  but  I  intend  that  Mr.  Withering's  name 
and  my  own  shall  be  on  the  committee;  and,  take  imj  word 
for  it,  we  shall  sift  the  evidence  carefully." 

"Bear  in  mind,  sister  Dinah,  that  this  gentleman  is,  first 
of  all,  our  guest." 

"The  first  of  all  that  I  mean  to  bear  in  mind  is,  that  he 
desires  to  be  your  grandson." 

"Of  course, — of  course.  I  would  only  observe  on  the 
reserve  that  should  be  maintained  towards  one  who  honors 
us  with  his  presence." 

"Peter  Barrington,  the  Arabs,  from  whom  you  seem  to 
borrow  your  notions  on  hospitality,  seldom  scruple  about 
cutting  a  guest's  head  off  when  he  passes  the  threshold; 
therefore  I  would  advise  you  to  adopt  habits  that  may  be 
more  suited  to  the  land  we  live  in." 

"All  I  know  is,"  said  Barrington,  rising  and  pacing  the 
room,  "that  I  could  no  more  put  a  gentleman  under  my  roof 
to  the  question  as  to  his  father  and  mother  and  his  fortune, 
than  I  could  rifle  his  writing-desk  and  read  his  letters." 

"Brother  Peter,  the  weakness  of  your  disposition  has  cost 
you  one  of  the  finest  estates  in  your  country,  and  if  it  could 
be  restored  to  you  to-morrow,  the  same  imbecility  would 
forfeit  it  again.  I  will,  however,  take  the  matter  into  my 
own  hands." 

"With  Withering,  I  suppose,  to  assist  you?" 

"Certainly  not.     I  am  perfectly  competent  to  make  any 


46  BARRINGTON. 

inquiry  I  deem  requisite  without  a  legal  adviser.  Perhaps, 
were  1  to  be  so  accompanied,  Major  Stapylton  would  sup- 
pose that  he,  too,  should  appear  with  his  lawyer." 

Barrington  smiled  faintly  at  the  dry  jest,  but  said 
nothing. 

"I  see,"  resumed  she,  "that  you  are  very  much  afraid 
about  my  want  of  tact  and  delicacy  in  this  investigation. 
It  is  a  somewhat  common  belief  amongst  men  that  in  all 
matters  of  business  women  err  on  the  score  of  hardness  and 
persistence.  1  have  listened  to  some  edifying  homilies  from 
your  friend  AVithering  on  female  incredulity  and  so  forth, 
—  reproaches  which  will  cease  to  apply  when  men  shall 
condescend  to  treat  us  as  creatures  accessible  to  reason, 
and  not  as  mere  dupes.  See  who  is  knocking  at  the  dooi', 
Peter,"  added  she,  sharply.  "I  declare  it  recalls  the  old 
days  of  our  innkeeping,  and  Darby  asking  for  the  bill  of 
the  lame  gentleman  in  No.  4." 

"Upon  my  life,  they  were  pleasant  da3's,  too,"  said  Bar- 
rington, but  in  a  tone  so  low  as  to  be  unheard  by  his  sister. 

"  May  I  come  in?  "  said  Withering,  as  he  opened  the  door 
a  few  inches,  and  peeped  inside.  "I  want  to  show  you  a 
note  I  have  just  had  from  Kinshela,  in  Kilkenny." 

"Yes,  yes;  come  in,"  said  Miss  Barrington.  "I  only 
wish  you  had  arrived  a  little  earlier.  What  is  your  note 
about?" 

"It's  very  short  and  very  purpose-like.  The  first  of  it 
is  all  about  Brazier's  costs,  which  it  seems  the  taxing- 
officer  thinks  fair  and  reasonable, — all  excepting  that 
charge  for  the  additional  affidavits.  But  here  is  what  I 
want  to  show  you.  '  Major  M'Cormick,  of  M'Cormick's 
Grove,  has  just  been  here;  and  although  I  am  not  entitled 
to  say  as  much  officially  on  his  part,  I  entertain  no  doubt 
whatever  but  that  he  is  ready  to  advance  the  mone}'  we 
require.  I  spoke  of  fifteen  hundred,  but  said  twelve  might 
possibly  be  taken,  and  twelve  would  be,  I  imagine,  his 
limit,  since  he  held  to  this  amount  in  all  our  conversation 
afterwards.  He  appears  to  be  a  man  of  strange  and  eccen- 
tric habits,  and  these  will  probably  be  deemed  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  the  singular  turn  our  interview  took  towards  its 
conclusion.     I  was  speaking  of  Mr.  Barrington's  wish  for 


A   CABINET   COUNCIL.  47 

the  insertion  in  the  deed  of  a  definite  period  for  redemption, 
and  he  stopped  rue  hastily  with,  ''What  if  we  could  strike 
out  another  arrangement?  What  if  he  was  to  make  a  set- 
tlement of  the  place  ou  his  granddaughter?  I  am  not  too 
old  to  marry,  and  I  'd  give  him  the  money  at  five  per  cent." 
I  have  been  careful  to  give  you  the  very  expressions  he 
employed,  and  of  which  I  made  a  note  when  he  left  the 
othce ;  for  although  fully  aware  how  improper  it  would  be 
in  me  to  submit  this  proposal  to  Mr.  Barrington,  I  have  felt 
it  my  duty  to  put  you  in  possession  of  all  that  has  passed 
between  us.'  " 

"How  can  you  laugh,  Peter  Barrington?  —  how  is  it  pos- 
sible you  can  laugh  at  such  an  insult,  —  such  an  outrage  as 
this?  Go  on,  sir,"  said  she,  turning  to  AVithering;  "let 
us  hear  it  to  the  end,  for  nothing  worse  can  remain  behind." 

"There  is  no  more;  at  least,  there  is  not  auj'thing  worth 
hearing.  Kinshela  winds  up  with  man}'  apologies,  and  hopes 
that  I  will  only  use  his  communication  for  my  own  guidance, 
and  not  permit  it  in  any  case  to  prejudice  him  in  your 
estimation."  As  he  spoke,  he  crumpled  up  the  note  in  his 
hand  in  some  confusion. 

"Who  thinks  of  Mr.  Kinshela,  or  wants  to  think  of  him, 
in  the  matter?"  said  she,  angrily.  '"I  wish,  however,  I 
were  a  man  for  a  couple  of  hours,  to  show  Major  M'Cormick 
the  estimate  I  take  of  the  honor  he  intends  us." 

"After  all,  Dinah,  it  is  not  that  he  holds  us  more  cheaply, 
but  rates  himself  higher." 

"Just  so,"  broke  in  Withering;  "and  I  know,  for  my  own 
part,  I  have  never  been  able  to  shake  off  the  flatter}'  of 
being  chosen  by  the  most  nefarious  rascal  to  defend  him  on 
his  trial.     Every  man  is  a  great  creature  in  his  own  eyes." 

"Well,  sir,  be  proud  of  your  client,"  said  she,  trembling 
with  anger. 

"No,  no,  —  he  's  no  client  of  mine,  nor  is  this  a  case  I 
would  plead  for  him.  I  read  you  Kinshela's  note  because 
I  thought  you  were  building  too  confidently  on  M'Cormick's 
readiness  to  advance  this  money." 

"  I  understood  what  that  readiness  meant,  though  my 
brother  did  not.  M'Cormick  looked  forward  to  the  day  — 
and  not  a  very  distant  day  did  he  deem  it  —  when  he  should 


48  BAKKINGTON. 

step  into  possession  of  this  place,  and  settle  down  here  as 
its  owner." 

Baniugton's  face  grew  pale,  and  a  glassy  tilm  spread  over 
his  eyes,  as  his  sister's  words  sunk  into  his  heart,  "I 
declare,  Dinah,"  said  he,  falteringly,  "that  never  did  strike 
me  before." 

"  '  It  never  rains  but  it  pours,'  says  the  Irish  adage,"  re- 
sumed she.  "My  brother  and  I  were  just  discussing 
another  proposal  of  the  same  kind  when  you  knocked. 
Read  that  letter.  It  is  from  a  more  adroit  courtier  than  the 
other,  and,  at  least,  he  does  n't  preface  his  intentions  with  a 
bargain."    And  she  handed  Stapylton's  letter  to  Withering. 

"Ah!"  said  the  lawyer,  "this  is  another  guess  sort  of 
man,  and  a  very  different  sort  of  proposal." 

"I  suspected  that  he  was  a  favorite  of  yours,"  said  Miss 
Dinah,  significantly. 

'■  Well,  I  own  to  it.  He  is  one  of  those  men  who  have  a 
great  attraction  for  me,  —  men  who  come  out  of  the  conflict 
of  life  and  its  interests  without  any  exaggerated  notions  of 
human  perfectibility  or  the  opposite,  who  recognize  plenty 
of  good  and  no  small  share  of  bad  in  the  world,  but,  on 
the  whole,  are  satisfied  that,  saving  ill  health,  very  few  of 
our  calamities  are  not  of  our  own  providing." 

"All  of  which  is  perfectly  compatible  with  an  odious 
egotism,  sir,"  said  she,  warmly;  "but  I  feel  proud  to  say 
such  characters  find  few  admirers  amongst  women." 

"From  which  I  opine  that  he  is  not  fortunate  enough  to 
number  Miss  Dinah  Barriugton  amongst  his  supporters?" 

"  You  are  right  there,  sir.  The  prejudice  I  had  against 
him  before  we  met  has  been  strengthened  since  I  have  seen 
him." 

"It  is  candid  of  you,  however,  to  call  it  a  prejudice,"  said 
he,  with  a  smile. 

"Be  it  so,  Mr.  Withering;  but  prejudice  is  only  another 
word  for  an  instinct." 

"I  'm  afraid  if  we  get  into  ethics  we  '11  forget  all  about  the 
proposal,"  said  Barrington. 

"What  a  sarcasm!  "  cried  Withering,  "that  if  we  talk  of 
morals  we  shall  ignore  matrimony." 

"I  like  the  man,  and  I  like  his  letter,"  said  Barrington. 


A   CABINET   COUNCIL.  49 

"I  distrust  both  one  and  the  other,"  said  Miss  Dinah. 
"I  almost  fancy  I  could  hold  a  brief  on  either  side,"  in- 
terposed Withering. 

"Of  course  you  could,  sir;  and  if  the  choice  were  open 
to  you,  it  would  be  the  defence  of  the  guilty." 

"My  dear  Miss  Barriugton,"  said  Withering,  calmly, 
"when  a  great  legal  authority  once  said  that  he  only  needed 
three  lines  of  any  man's  writing  '  to  hang  him,'  it  ought  to 
make  us  very  lenient  in  our  construction  of  a  letter.  Now, 
so  far  as  I  can  see  in  this  one  before  us,  he  neither  asks  nor 
protests  too  much.  He  begs  simply  for  time,  he  entreats 
leave  to  draw  a  bill  on  your  affections,  and  he  promises  to 
meet  it." 

"Xo,  sir,  he  wishes  to  draw  at  sight,  though  he  has  never 
shown  us  the  letter  of  credit." 

"  I  vow  to  Heaven  it  is  hopeless  to  expect  anything  prac- 
tical when  you  two  stand  up  together  for  a  sparring-match," 
cried  Barriugton. 

"Be  practical,  then,  brother  Peter,  and  ask  this  gentleman 
to  give  you  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  your  study.  Find  out 
who  he  is;  I  don't  expect  you  to  learn  what  he  is,  but  what 
he  has.  With  his  fortune  we  shall  get  the  clew  to  himself." 
"Yes,"  chimed  in  Withering,  "all  that  is  very  business- 
like and  reasonable." 

"And  it  pledges  us  to  nothing,"  added  she.  "We  take 
soundings,  but  we  don't  promise  to  anchor." 

"If  you  go  off  again  with  your  figures  of  speech,  Dinah, 
there  is  an  end  of  me,  for  I  have  one  of  those  unhappy 
memories  that  retain  the  illustration  and  forget  what  it 
typified.  Besides  this,  here  is  a  man  who,  out  of  pure  good 
nature  and  respect  for  poor  George's  memory,  has  been 
doing  us  most  important  services,  written  letters  innumer- 
able, and  taken  the  most  active  measures  for  our  benefit. 
What  sort  of  a  figure  shall  I  present  if  I  bring  him  to 
book  about  his  rental  and  the  state  of  his  bank  account?  " 

"With  the  exercise  of  a  little  tact,  Barriugton,  — a  little 
management  —  " 

"Ask  a  man  with  a  club-foot  to  walk  gingerly!  I  have 
no  more  notion  of  getting  at  anything  by  address  than  I 
have  of  tying  the  femoral  artery." 

VOL.  n. — 4 


60  BARRINGTON. 

"The  more  blunt  the  better,  Peter  Barrington.  You  may 
tumble  iato  the  truth,  though  you  'd  never  pick  your  way 
into  it.  Meanwhile,  leave  me  to  deal  with  Major  M'Cor- 
mick." 

"You'll  do  it  courteously,  Dinah;  you'll  bear  in  mind 
that  he  is  a  neighbor  of  some  twenty  years'  standing?  "  said 
Barrington,  in  a  voice  of  anxiety. 

"I'll  do  it  in  a  manner  that  shall  satisfy  my  conscience 
and  his  presumption." 

She  seated  herself  at  the  table  as  she  said  this,  and  dashed 
off  a  few  hasty  lines.  Indeed,  so  hurried  was  the  action, 
that  it  looked  far  more  like  one  of  those  instances  of  corre- 
spondence we  see  on  the  stage  than  an  event  of  real  life. 

"Will  that  do?  "  said  she,  showing  the  lines  to  Withering. 

The  old  lawyer  read  them  over  to  himself,  a  faint  twitch- 
ing of  the  mouth  being  the  only  sign  his  face  presented  of 
any  emotion.     "I  should  say  admirably, — nothing  better." 

"May  I  see  it,  Dinah?"  asked  Peter. 

"You  shall  hear  it,  brother,"  said  she,  taking  the  paper 
and  reading,  — 

" '  Miss  Barrington  informs  Mr.  Kinshela  that  if  he  does  not  at 
once  retract  his  epistle  of  this  morning's  date,  she  will  place  it  in 
the  hands  of  her  legal  adviser,  and  proceed  against  it  as  a  threaten- 
ing letter.' " 

"Oh,  sister,  you  will  not  send  this?" 

"As  sure  as  my  name  is  Dinah  Barrington." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

AN   EXPRESS. 

In  the  times  before  telegraphs,  —  and  it  is  of  such  I  am 
writing, — a  Iiurried  express  was  a  far  more  stirring  event 
than  in  these  our  days  of  incessant  oracles.  While,  there- 
fore, Barriugton  and  his  sister  and  Withering  sat  in  deep 
consultation  on  Josephine's  fate  and  future,  a  hasty  sum- 
mons arrived  from  Dublin,  requiring  the  instantaneous 
departure  of  Stapylton,  whose  regiment  was  urgently 
needed  in  the  north  of  England,  at  that  time  agitated  by 
those  disturbances  called  the  Bread  Riots.  They  were 
very  formidable  troubles,  and  when  we  look  back  upon 
them  now,  with  the  light  which  the  great  events  of  later 
years  on  the  Continent  afford  us,  seem  more  terrible  still. 
It  was  the  fashion,  however,  then,  to  treat  them  lightly,  and 
talk  of  them  contemptuously;  and  as  Stapylton  was  eating 
a  hasty  luncheon  before  departure,  he  sneered  at  the  rabble, 
and  scoffed  at  the  insolent  pretension  of  their  demands. 
Neither  Barrington  nor  Withering  sympathized  with  the 
spirit  of  the  revolt,  and  yet  each  felt  shocked  at  the  tone 
of  haughty  contempt  Stapylton  assumed  towards  the  people. 
"You'll  see,"  cried  he,  rising,  "how  a  couple  of  brisk 
charges  from  our  fellows  will  do  more  to  bring  these  rascals 
to  reason  than  all  the  fine  pledges  of  your  Parliament  folk; 
and  I  promise  you,  for  my  own  i)art,  if  I  chance  upon  one 
of  their  leaders,  I  mean  to  lay  my  mark  on  him." 

"I  fear,  sir,  it  is  your  instinctive  dislike  to  the  plebeian 
that  moves  you  here,"  said  Miss  Dinah.  "You  will  not 
entertain  the  question  whether  these  people  may  not  have 
some  wrongs  to  complain  of." 

"Perhaps  so,  madam,"  said  he;  and  his  swarthy  face 
grew  darker  as  he  spoke.     "I  suppose  this  is  the  case  where 


52  BARRINGTON. 

the  blood  of  a  gentleman  boils  indignantly  at  the  challenge 
of  the  ainaille.'' 

"I  will  not  have  a  French  word  applied  to  our  own 
people,  sir,"  said  she,  angrily. 

""Well  said,"  chimed  in  Withering.  "It  is  wonderful 
how  a  phrase  can  seem  to  carry  an  argument  along  with  it." 

And  old  Peter  smiled,  and  nodded  his  concurrence  with 
this  speech. 

"What  a  sad  minority  do  I  stand  in!"  said  Stapylton, 
with  an  effort  to  smile  very  far  from  successful.  "Will  not 
Miss  Josephine  Barringtou  have  generosity  enough  to  aid 
the  weaker  side?  " 

"Not  if  it  be  the  worst  cause,"  interposed  Dinah.  "My 
niece  needs  not  to  be  told  she  must  be  just  before  she  is 
generous." 

"Then  it  is  to  your  own  generosity  I  will  appeal,"  said 
Stapylton,  turning  to  her;  "and  I  will  ask  you  to  ascribe 
some,  at  least,  of  my  bitterness  to  the  sorrow  I  feel  at  being 
thus  summoned  away.  Believe  me  it  is  no  light  matter  to 
leave  this  place  and  its  company." 

"But  only  for  a  season,  and  a  very  brief  season  too,  I 
trust,"  said  Barrington.  "You  are  going  away  in  our  debt, 
remember." 

"It  is  a  loser's  privilege,  all  the  world  over,  to  withdraw 
when  he  has  lost  enough,"  said  Stapylton,  with  a  sad  smile 
towards  Miss  Dinah;  and  though  the  speech  Avas  made  in 
the  hope  it  might  elicit  a  contradiction,  none  came,  and  a 
very  awkward  silence  ensued. 

"Youw^ill  reach  Dublin  to-night,  I  suppose?"  said  With- 
ering, to  relieve  the  painful  pause  in  the  conversation. 

"It  will  be  late,  — after  midnight,  perhaps." 

"And  embark  the  next  morning?" 

"Two  of  our  squadrons  have  sailed  already;  the  others 
■will,  of  course,  follow  to-morrow." 

"And  young  Conyers,"  broke  in  Miss  Dinah,  — "he  will, 
I  suppose,  accompany  this  —  what  shall  I  call  it?  —  this 
raid?" 

"Yes,  madam.  Am  I  to  convey  to  him  your  compli- 
ments upon  the  first  opportunity  to  flesh  his  maiden 
sword?" 


AN  EXPRESS.  53 

"You  are  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  sir;  but  tell  him  from 
me  not  to  forget  that  the  angry  passions  of  a  starving  mul- 
titude are  not  to  be  confounded  with  the  vindictive  hate  of 
our  natural  enemies." 

"Natural  enemies,  my  dear  Miss  Barrington!  I  hope  you 
cannot  mean  that  there  exists  anything  so  monstrous  in 
humanity  as  a  natural  enemy?  " 

"I  do,  sir;  and  I  mean  all  those  whose  jealousy  of  us 
ripens  into  hatred,  and  who  would  spill  their  heart's  blood 
to  see  us  humbled.  When  there  exists  a  people  like  this, 
and  who  at  every  fresh  outbreak  of  a  war  with  us  have  car- 
ried into  the  new  contest  all  the  bitter  animosities  of  long 
past  struggles  as  debts  to  be  liquidated,  I  call  these  natural 
enemies ;  and,  if  you  prefer  a  shorter  word  for  it,  I  call  them 
Frenchmen." 

"Dinah,  Dinah!" 

"Peter,  Peter!  don't  interrupt  me.  Major  Stapylton 
has  thought  to  tax  me  with  a  blunder,  but  I  accept  it  as  a 
boast!" 

"Madam,  I  am  proud  to  be  vanquished  by  you,"  said 
Stapylton,  bowing  low. 

"And  I  trust,  sir,"  said  she,  continuing  her  speech,  and 
as  if  heedless  of  his  interruption,  "that  no  similarity  of 
name  will  make  you  behave  at  Peterloo  —  if  that  be  the 
name  —  as  though  you  were  at  Waterloo." 

"Upon  my  life!  "  cried  he,  with  a  saucy  laugh,  "I  don't 
know  how  I  am  to  win  your  good  opinion,  except  it  be  by 
tearing  off  my  epaulettes,  and  putting  myself  at  the  head 
of  the  mob." 

"You  know  very  little  of  my  sister.  Major  Stapylton," 
said  Barrington,  "or  you  would  scarcely  have  selected  that 
mode  of  cultivating  her  favor." 

"There  is  a  popular  belief  that  ladies  always  side  with 
the  winning  cause,"  said  Stapylton,  affecting  a  light  and  easy 
manner;  "so  I  must  do  my  best  to  be  successful.  May  I 
hope  I  carry  your  good  wishes  away  with  me?"  said  he,  in 
a  lower  tone  to  Josephine. 

"I  hope  that  nobody  will  hurt  you,  and  you  hurt  nobody," 
said  she,  laughingly. 

"And  this,  I  take  it,  is  about  as  much  sympathy  as  ever 


64  BARRINGTON. 

attends  a  man  on  such  a  campaign.  Mr.  Barriugtou,  will 
you  grant  me  two  minutes  of  conversation  in  your  own 
room?"  And,  with  a  bow  of  acquiescence,  Barrington  led 
the  way  to  his  study. 

"I  ought  to  have  anticipated  your  request,  Major  Stapyl- 
ton,"  said  Barrington,  when  they  found  themselves  alone. 
"I  owe  you  a  reply  to  your  letter,  but  the  simple  fact  is,  I 
do  not  know  what  answer  to  give  it;  for  while  most  sensible 
of  the  honor  you  intend  us,  1  feel  still  there  is  much  to  be 
explained  on  both  sides.  We  know  scarcely  anything  of  each 
other,  and  though  I  am  conscious  of  the  generosity  which 
prompts  a  man  with  yotir  prospects  and  in  ijour  position  to 
ally  himself  with  persons  in  ours,  yet  I  owe  it  to  myself  to 
say,  it  hangs  upon  a  contingency  to  restore  us  to  wealth  and 
station.  Even  a  portion  of  what  I  claim  from  the  East  India 
Company  would  make  my  granddaughter  one  of  the  richest 
heiresses  in  p]ngland." 

Stapylton  gave  a  cold,  a  very  cold  smile,  in  reply  to  this 
speech.  It  might  mean  that  he  was  incredulous  or  indiffer- 
ent, or  it  might  imply  that  the  issue  was  one  which  need  not 
have  been  introduced  into  the  case  at  all.  Whatever  its 
signification,  Barrington  felt  hurt  by  it,  and  hastily  said,  — 

"Not  that  I  have  any  need  to  trouble  you  with  these  de- 
tails: it  is  rather  my  province  to  ask  for  information 
regarding  your  circumstances  than  to  enter  upon  a  discus- 
sion of  ours." 

"I  am  quite  ready  to  give  you  the  very  fullest  and  clear- 
est, —  I  mean  to  yourself  personally,  or  to  your  sister;  for, 
except  where  the  lawyer  intervenes  of  necessity  and  de  droit, 
I  own  that  I  resent  his  presence  as  an  insult.  I  suppose 
few  of  us  are  devoid  of  certain  family  circumstances  which 
it  would  be  more  agreeable  to  deal  with  in  confidence;  and 
though,  perhaps,  I  am  as  fortunate  as  most  men  in  this 
respect,  there  are  one  or  two  small  matters  on  which  I 
would  ask  your  attention.  These,  however,  are  neither 
important  nor  pressing.  My  first  care  is  to  know,  —  and 
I  hope  I  am  not  peremptory  in  asking  it,  —  have  I  your  con- 
sent to  the  proposition  contained  in  my  letter;  am  I  at 
liberty  to  address  Miss  Barrington?" 

Barrington  flushed  deeply  and  fidgeted ;  he  arose  and  sat 


AN   EXPRESS.  55 

down  again,  —  all  his  excitement  only  aggravated  by  the 
well-bred  composure  of  the  other,  who  seemed  utterly  un- 
conscious of  the  uneasiness  he  was  causing. 

"Don't  you  think,  Major,  that  this  is  a  case  for  a  little 
time  to  reflect,  —  that  in  a  matter  so  momentous  as  this,  a 
few  days  at  least  are  requisite  for  consideration  ?  "We  ought 
to  ascertain  something  at  least  of  my  granddaughter's  own 
sentiments,  —  I  mean,  of  course,  in  a  general  way.  It 
might  be,  too,  that  a  day  or  two  might  give  us  some  better 
insight  into  her  future  prospects." 

"Pardon  my  interrupting  you;  but,  on  the  last  point,  I 
am  perfectly  indifferent.  Miss  Barrington  with  half  a  prov- 
ince for  her  dower,  would  be  no  more  in  my  eyes  than  Miss 
Barrington  as  she  sat  at  breakfast  this  morning.  Nor  is 
there  anything  of  high-flown  sentiment  in  this  declaration, 
as  my  means  are  sutliciently  ample  for  all  that  I  want  or 
care." 

"There,  at  least,  is  one  difficulty  disposed  of.  You  are 
an  eldest  son?  "  said  lie ;  and  he  blushed  at  his  own  boldness 
in  making  the  inquiry. 

"  I  am  an  only  son." 

"Easier  again,"  said  Barrington,  trying  to  laugh  off  the 
awkward  moment.  "No  cuttmg  down  one's  old  timber  to 
pay  off  the  provisions  for  younger  brothers." 

"  In  my  case  there  is  no  need  of  this." 

"And  your  father.     Is  he  still  living,  Major  Stapylton?" 

"My  father  has  been  dead  some  years." 

Barrington  fldgeted  again,  fumbled  with  his  watch-chain 
and  his  eye-glass,  and  would  have  given  more  than  he  could 
afford  for  any  casualty  that  should  cut  short  the  interview. 
He  wanted  to  say,  "What  is  the  amount  of  your  fortune? 
"What  is  it?  Where  is  it?  Are  you  Wiltshire  or  Stafford- 
shire? Who  are  your  uncles  and  aunts,  and  your  good 
friends  that  you  pray  for,  and  whei-e  do  you  pray  for 
them  ? "  A  thousand  questions  of  this  sort  arose  in  his 
mind,  one  only  more  prying  and  impertinent  than  another. 
He  knew  he  ought  to  ask  them  ;  he  knew  Dinah  would  have 
asked  them.  Ay,  and  would  have  the  answers  to  them  as 
plain  and  palpable  as  the  replies  to  a  life  assurance  circular ; 
but  he  could  n't  do  it.     No ;  not  if  his  life  depended  on  it. 


66  BARRIXGTON. 

He  had  already  gone  further  in  his  transgression  of  good 
manners  than  it  ever  occurred  to  hiui  before  to  do,  and  he 
felt  something  between  a  holy  inquisitor  and  a  spy  of  the 
police. 

Stapylton  looked  at  his  watch,  and  gave  a  slight  start. 

"  Later  than  you  thought,  eh?"  cried  Peter,  overjoyed  at 
the  diversion. 

Stapylton  smiled  a  cold  assent,  and  put  up  his  watch  with- 
out a  word.  He  saw  all  the  confusion  and  embarrassment 
of  the  other,  and  made  no  effort  to  relieve  him.  At  last, 
but  not  until  after  a  considerable  pause,  he  said,  — 

"I  believe,  Mr.  Barrington,  —  I  hope,  at  least, — I  have 
satisfactorily  answered  the  questions  which,  with  every  right 
on  your  part,  you  have  deemed  proper  to  put  to  me.  I  can- 
not but  feel  how  painful  the  task  has  been  to  you,  and  I 
regret  it  the  more,  since  probably  it  has  set  a  limit  to  inqui- 
ries which  you  are  perfectly  justified  in  making,  but  w^hich 
closer  relations  between  us  may  make  a  matter  far  less  for- 
midable one  of  these  daj's." 

"Yes,  yes, — just  so;  of  course,"  said  Barrington,  hur- 
riedly assenting  to  he  knew  not  what. 

"And  I  trust  I  take  my  leave  of  you  with  the  understand- 
ing that  when  we  meet  again,  it  shall  be  as  in  the  commence- 
ment of  these  pleasanter  relations.  I  own  to  you  I  am  the 
more  eager  on  this  point,  that  I  perceive  your  sister,  Miss 
Barrington,  scarcely  regards  me  very  favorably',  and  I  stand 
the  more  in  need  of  your  alliance." 

"I  don't  think  it  possible.  Major  Stapylton,"  said  Bar- 
rington, boldly,  "that  my  sister  and  I  could  have  two 
opinions  upon  anything  or  anybody." 

"Then  I  only  ask  that  she  may  partake  of  yours  on  this 
occasion,"  said  Stapylton,  bowing.  "  But  I  must  start ;  as 
it  is,  I  shall  be  very  late  in  Dublin.  Will  you  present  my 
most  respectful  adieux  to  the  ladies,  and  say  also  a  good- 
bye for  me  to  Mr.  Withering?" 

"You'll  come  in  for  a  moment  to  the  drawing-room, 
won't  you?"  cried  Barrington. 

"I  think  not.  I  opine  it  would  be  better  not.  There 
■would  be  a  certain  awkwardness  about  it,  —  that  is,  until 
you  have  informed  Miss  Dinah  Barrington  of  the  extent  to 


AN   EXPRESS.  57 

which  you  have  accorded  me  your  confideuce,  and  how  com' 
pletely  I  have  opened  every  detail  of  my  circumstances.  I 
believe  it  would  be  in  better  taste  not  to  present  myself. 
Tell  Withering  that  if  he  writes,  Manchester  will  find  me. 
I  don't  suspect  he  need  give  himself  any  more  trouble  about 
establishing  the  proofs  of  marriage.  They  will  scarcely 
contest  that  point.  The  great  question  will  and  must  be,  to 
ascertain  if  the  Company  will  cease  to  oppose  the  claim  on 
being  fully  convinced  that  the  letter  to  the  Meer  Busherat 
was  a  forgery,  and  that  no  menace  ever  came  fi-oni  Colonel 
Barringtou's  hand  as  to  the  consequences  of  opposing  his 
rule.  Get  them  to  admit  this,  —  let  the  issue  rest  upon  this, 
—  and  it  will  narrow  the  whole  suit  within  manageable 
limits." 

"Would  you  not  say  this  much  to  him  before  you  go? 
It  would  come  with  so  much  more  force  and  clearness  from 
yourself." 

"  I  have  done  so  till  I  was  wearied.  Like  a  true  lawyer, 
he  insists  upon  proving  each  step  as  he  goes,  and  will  not 
condescend  to  a  hypothetical  conclusion,  though  I  have  told 
him  over  and  over  again  we  want  a  settlement,  not  a  victory. 
Good-bye,  good-bye !  If  I  once  launch  out  into  the  cause, 
I  cannot  tear  mj^self  away  again." 

"  Has  your  guest  gone,  Peter?  "  said  Miss  Dinah,  as  her 
brother  re-entered  the  drawing-room. 

"Yes;  it  was  a  hurried  departure,  and  he  had  no  great 
heart  for  it,  either.  By  the  way.  Withering,  while  it  is 
fresh  in  my  head,  let  me  tell  you  the  message  he  has  sent 
you." 

"Was  there  none  for  we,  Peter?"  said  she,  scofflngly. 

"  Ay,  but  there  was,  Dinah !  He  left  with  me  I  know 
not  how  many  polite  and  charming  things  to  say  for 
him." 

"And  am  I  alone  forgotten  in  this  wide  dispensation  of 
favors?"  asked  Josephine,  smiling. 

"Of  course  not,  dear,"  chimed  in  Miss  Dinah.  "Your 
grandpapa  has  been  charged  with  them  all.  You  could  not 
expect  a  gentleman  so  naturally  timid  and  bashful  as  our 
late  guest  to  utter  them  by  his  own  lips." 

"I  see,"  said  Withering,  laughing,  "that  you  have  not 


58  BAR  KINGTON. 

forgiven  the  haughty  aristocrat  for  his  insolent  estimate  of 
the  people ! " 

"He  an  aristocrat!  Such  bitter  words  as  his  never  fell 
from  any  man  who  had  a  grandfather !  " 

"  Wrong  for  once,  Dinah,"  broke  in  Barrington.  "  I  can 
answer  for  it  that  you  are  unjust  to  him." 

"  We  shall  see."  said  she.  "  Come,  Josephine,  I  have 
a  whole  morning's  work  before  me  in  the  flower-garden,  and 
I  want  your  help.  Don't  forget,  Peter,  that  Major  M'Cor- 
mick's  butler,  or  boatman,  or  bailifif,  whichever  he  be,  has 
been  up  here  with  a  present  of  seakale  this  morning.  Give 
him  something  as  you  pass  the  kitchen ;  and  you,  Mr. 
Withering,  whose  trade  it  is  to  read  and  unravel  mysteries, 
explain  if  you  can  the  meaning  of  this  unwonted  generosity." 

"  I  suppose  we  can  all  guess  it,"  said  he,  laughing.  "  It's 
a  custom  that  begins  in  the  East  and  goes  round  the  whole 
world  till  it  reaches  the  vast  prairie  in  the  Far  West." 

"And  what  can  that  custom  be,  Aunt  Dinah?"  asked 
Josephine,  innocently. 

"It's  an  ancient  rite  Mr.  Withering  speaks,  of,  child, 
pertaining  to  the  days  when  men  offered  sacrifices.  Come 
along  ;  I  'm  going  !  " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CROSS-EXAMININGS. 

"While  Barrington  and  his  lawyer  sat  in  conclave  over  the 
details  of  the  great  suit,  Stapyltou  hurried  along  his  road 
with  all  the  speed  he  could  summon.  The  way,  which  for 
some  miles  led  along  the  river-side,  brought  into  view 
M'Cormick's  cottage,  and  the  Major  himself,  as  he  stood 
listlessly  at  his  door. 

Halting  his  carriage  for  a  moment,  Stapj'lton  jumped  out 
and  drew  nigh  the  little  quickset  hedge  which  flanked  the 
road. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you  in  the  neighborhood  of  Manches- 
ter, Major?  We  are  just  ordered  off  there  to  ride  down  the 
Radicals." 

"I  wish  it  was  nearer  home  you  were  going  to  do  it,"  said 
he,  crankil}'.  "Look  here,"  —  and  he  pointed  to  some  fresh- 
turned  earth,  — "they  were  stealing  my  turnips  last  night." 

"It  would  appear  that  these  fellows  in  the  North  are 
growing  dangerous,"  said  Stapj^lton. 

" 'T  is  little  matter  to  us,"  said  M'Cormick,  sulkily. 
"I'd  care  more  about  a  blight  in  the  potatoes  than  for  all 
the  politics  in  Europe." 

"A  genuine  philosopher!  How  snug  you  are  here,  to  be 
sure!  A  man  in  a  pleasant  nook  like  this  can  well  afford  to 
smile  at  the  busy  ambitions  of  the  outer  world.  I  take  it 
you  are  about  the  xevy  happiest  fellow  I  know?" 

"Maybe  I  am,  maybe  I  'm  not,"  said  he,  peevishly. 

"This  spot  only  wants  what  I  hinted  to  you  t'  other  even- 
ing, to  be  perfection." 

"Ay!"  said  the  other,  dryly. 

"And  you  agree  with  me  heartily,  if  you  had  the  candor 
to  say  it.  Come,  out  with  it,  man,  at  once.  I  saw  your 
gardener  this  morning  with  a  great  basketful  of  greenery, 


60  HARRINGTON. 

fliul  a  large  bouquet  ou  the  top  of  it, — are  not  these  sig« 
niticant  sigus  of  a  projected  campaign?  You  are  wrong, 
Major,  upon  my  life  you  are  wrong,  not  to  be  frank  with  me. 
I  could,  by  a  strange  hazard,  as  the  newspapers  say,  '  tell 
you  something  to  your  advantage.'  " 

"About  what?" 

"About  the  very  matter  you  were  thinking  of  as  I  drove 
up.  Come,  I  will  be  more  generous  than  j'ou  deserve." 
And,  laying  his  arm  on  M'Cormick's  shoulder,  he  half  whis- 
pered in  his  ear;  "It  is  a  good  thing, — a  deuced  good 
thing!  and  I  promise  you,  if  I  were  a  marrying  man,  you  'd 
have  a  competitor.  I  won't  say  she  '11  have  one  of  the  great 
fortunes  people  rave  about,  but  it  will  be  considerable,  — 
very  considerable." 

"How  do  you  know,  or  what  do  you  know?  " 

"I'll  tell  you  in  three  words.  How  I  know  is,  because  I 
have  been  the  channel  for  certain  inquiries  they  made  in 
India.  "What  I  know  is,  the  Directors  are  sick  of  the  case, 
they  are  sorely  ashamed  of  it,  and  not  a  little  uneasy  lest  it 
should  come  before  the  public,  perhaps  before  the  Parlia- 
ment. Old  Barrington  has  made  all  negotiation  difficult 
by  the  extravagant  pretensions  he  puts  forward  about 
his  son's  honor,  and  so  forth.  If,  however,  the  girl  were 
married,  her  husband  would  be  the  person  to  treat  with,  and 
I  am  assured  with  him  they  would  deal  handsomely,  even 
generousl5^" 

"And  why  would  n't  all  this  make  a  marrying  man  of  you, 
though  you  weren't  before?  " 

"There  's  a  slight  canonical  objection,  if  you  must  know," 
said  Stapylton,  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  I  perceive, — a  wife  already!     In  India,  perhaps?" 

"I  have  no  time  just  now  for  a  long  story,  M'Cormick," 
said  he,  familiarh^  "nor  am  I  quite  certain  I'd  tell  it  if  I 
had.  However,  you  know  enough  for  all  practical  purposes, 
and  I  repeat  to  you  this  is  a  stake  I  can't  enter  for,  — you 
understand  me?" 

"There's  another  thing,  now,"  said  M'Cormick;  "and  as 
we  are  talking  so  freely  together,  there  's  no  harm  in  men- 
tioning it.  It 's  only  the  other  day,  as  I  may  call  it,  that 
we  met  for  the  first  time? " 


CROSS-EXAMININGS.  61 

"Very  true:  when  I  was  clown  here  at  Cobham." 

"And  never  heard  of  each  other  before?" 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,  certainly." 

"That  being  the  case,  I  'm  curious  to  hear  how  you  took 
this  wonderful  interest  in  me.  It  wasn't  anything  in  my 
appearance,  I  'm  sure,  nor  m}'  manner;  and  as  to  what  you  'd 
hear  about  me  among  those  blackguards  down  here,  there  's 
nothing  too  bad  to  say  of  me." 

"I'll  be  as  frank  as  yourself,"  said  Stapylton,  boldly; 
"you  ask  for  candor,  and  you  shall  have  it.  I  had  n't  talked 
ten  minutes  with  you  till  I  saw  that  you  were  a  thorough 
man  of  the  world;  the  true  old  soldier,  who  had  seen  enough 
of  life  to  know  that  whatever  one  gets  for  nothing  in  this 
world  is  just  worth  nothing,  and  so  I  said  to  myself,  '  If  it 
ever  occurs  to  me  to  chance  upon  a  good  opportunity  of 
which  I  cannot  from  circumstances  avail  myself,  there  's  my 
man.  I'll  go  to  him  and  say,  "M'Cormick,  that's  open  to 
you,  there  's  a  safe  thing!  "  And  when  in  return  he  'd  say, 
"Stapylton,  what  can  I  do  for  you?  "  my  answer  would  be, 
"Wait  till  you  are  satisfied  that  I  have  done  you  a  good 
turn;  be  perfectly  assured  that  I  have  really  served  you." 
And  then,  if  I  wanted  a  loan  of  a  thousand  or  fifteen  hun- 
dred to  lodge  for  the  Lieutenant-Colonelcy,  I  'd  not  be 
ashamed  to  say,  "M'Cormick,  let  me  have  so  much."  '  " 

"That's  it,  is  it?"  said  M'Cormick,  with  a  leer  of  in- 
tense cunning.  "Not  a  bad  bargain  for  ?/o?<,  anyhow.  It 
is  not  every  day  that  a  man  can  sell  what  is  n't  his  own." 

"I  might  say,  it 's  not  every  day  that  a  man  regards  a 
possible  loan  as  a  gift,  but  I  'm  quite  ready  to  reassure  all 
your  fears  on  that  score;  I'll  even  pledge  myself  never  to 
borrow  a  shilling  from  you." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that;  you  took  me  up  so  quick,"  said 
the  old  fellow,  reddening  with  a  sense  of  shame  he  had  not 
felt  for  many  a  year.  "I  may  be  as  stingy  as  they  call  me, 
but  for  all  that  I  'd  stand  to  a  man  who  stands  to  me." 

"Between  gentlemen  and  men  of  the  world  these  things 
are  better  left  to  a  sense  of  an  honorable  understanding 
than  made  matters  of  compact.  There  is  no  need  of  another 
word  on  the  matter.  I  shall  be  curious,  however,  to  know 
how  your  project  speeds.     Write  to  me,  —  you  have  plenty 


62  BARRINGTON. 

of  time, — and  write  often.  I'm  not  unlikely  to  learn 
Bometbing  about  the  Indian  claim,  and  if  1  do,  you  shall 
hear  of  it." 

"I'm  not  over  good  at  pen  and  ink  work;  indeed,  I 
haven't  much  practice,  but  I'll  do  my  best." 

"Do,  by  all  means.  Tell  me  how  you  get  on  with  Aunt 
Dinah,  who,  I  suspect,  has  no  strong  affection  for  either  of 
us.  Don't  be  precipitate;  hazard  nothing  by  a  rash  step; 
secure  your  way  by  intimacy,  mere  intimacy:  avoid  partic- 
ular attentions  strictly ;  be  always  thei'e,  and  on  some  pre- 
text or  other —  But  why  do  I  say  all  this  to  an  old  soldier, 
who  has  made  such  sieges  scores  of  times?  " 

"Well,  I  think  I  see  my  way  clear  enough,"  said  the  old 
fellow,  with  a  grin.  "I  wish  I  was  as  sure  I  knew  why  you 
take  such  an  interest  in  me." 

"I  believe  I  have  told  you  already;  I  hope  there  is  noth- 
ing so  strange  in  the  assurance  as  to  require  corroboration. 
Come,  I  must  say  good-bye;  I  meant  to  have  said  five 
words  to  you,  and  I  have  stayed  here  five-and-twenty 
minutes." 

"Would  n't  you  take  something?  —  could  n't  I  offer  you 
anything?"  said  M'Cormick,  hesitatingly. 

"Nothing,  thanks.  I  lunched  before  I  started;  and  al- 
though old  Dinah  made  several  assaults  upon  me  while  I 
ate,  I  managed  to  secure  two  cutlets  and  part  of  a  grouse- 
pie,  and  a  rare  glass  of  Madeira  to  wash  them  down." 

"That  old  woman  is  dreadful,  and  I'll  take  her  down  a 
peg  yet,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Dan." 

"No,  don't,  Major;  don't  do  anything  of  the  kind.  The 
people  who  tame  tigers  are  sure  to  get  scratched  at  last,  and 
nobody  thanks  them  for  their  pains.  Regard  her  as  the 
sailors  do  a  fire-ship;  give  her  a  wide  berth,  and  steer  away 
from  her." 

"Ay,  but  she  sometimes  gives  chase." 

"Strike  your  flag,  then,  if  it  must  be;  for,  trust  me, 
you  '11  not  conquer  her." 

"We'll  see,  we'll  see,"  muttered  the  old  fellow,  as  he 
waved  his  adieux,  and  then  turned  back  into  the  house 
again. 

As  Stapylton  lay  back  in  his  carriage,  he  could  not  help 


CROSS-EXAMININGS.  63 

muttering  a  malediction  on  the  "dear  friend"  he  had  just 
parted  with.  When  the  bourgeois  gentilhomme  objected  to 
his  adversary  pushing  him  en  tierce  while  he  attacked 
him  en  quarte,,  he  was  expressing  a  great  social  want, 
applicable  to  those  people  who  in  conversation  will  persist 
in  saying  many  things  which  ought  not  to  be  uttered,  and 
expressing  doubts  and  distrusts  which,  however  it  be  rea- 
sonable to  feel,  are  an  outrage  to  avow. 

"The  old  fox,"  said  Stapylton,  aloud,  "taunted  me  with 
selling  what  did  not  belong  to  me;  but  he  never  suspects 
that  I  have  bought  something  without  paying  for  it,  and 
that  something  himself!  Yes,  the  mock  siege  he  will  lay  to 
the  fortress  will  occupy  the  garrison  till  it  suits  me  to  open 
the  real  attack,  and  I  will  make  use  of  him,  besides,  to  learn 
whatever  goes  on  in  my  absence.  How  the  old  fellow  swal- 
lowed the  bait!  What  self-esteem  there  must  be  in  such  a 
rugged  nature,  to  make  him  imagine  he  could  be  successful 
in  a  cause  like  this!  He  is,  after  all,  a  clumsy  agent  to 
trust  one's  interest  to.  If  the  choice  had  been  given  me, 
I  'd  far  rather  have  had  a  woman  to  watch  over  them.  Polly 
Dill,  for  instance,  the  very  girl  to  understand  such  a  mis- 
sion well.  How  adroitly  would  she  have  played  the  game, 
and  how  clearly  would  her  letters  have  shown  me  the  exact  j 
state  of  events !  " 

Such  were  the  texts  of  his  musings  as  he  drove  along,  and 
deep  as  were  his  thoughts,  they  never  withdrew  him,  when 
the  emergency  called,  from  attention  to  every  detail  of  the 
journey,  and  he  scrutinized  the  post-horses  as  they  were 
led  out,  and  apportioned  the  rewards  to  the  postilions  as 
though  no  heavier  care  lay  on  his  heart  than  the  road  and 
its  belongings.  While  he  rolled  thus  smoothly  along,  Peter 
Barringtou  had  been  summoned  to  his  sister's  presence,  to 
narrate  in  full  all  that  he  had  asked,  and  all  that  he  had 
learned  of  Stapylton  and  his  fortunes. 

Miss  Dinah  was  seated  in  a  deep  armchair,  behind  a 
formidable  embroidery-frame, — a  thing  so  complex  and 
mysterious  in  form  as  to  suggest  an  implement  of  torture. 
At  a  short  distance  off  sat  Withering,  with  pen,  ink,  and 
paper  before  him,  as  if  to  set  down  any  details  of  unusual 
importance;    and   into   this '  imposing   presence   poor   Bar- 


64  BARRINGTON. 

ringtoii  entered  with  a  woful  sense  of  misgiving  and 
humiliation. 

"We  have  got  a  quiet  moment  at  last,  Peter,"  said  Miss 
Barringtou.  "I  have  sent  the  girls  over  to  Brown's  Barn 
for  the  tulip-roots,  and  1  have  told  Darby  that  if  any  visi- 
tors came  they  were  to  be  informed  we  were  particularly 
occupied  by  business,  and  could  see  no  one." 

'Must  so,"  added  Withering;  "it  is  a  case  before  the 
Judge  in  Chamber." 

"But  what  have  we  got  to  hear?"  asked  Barrington,  with 
an  air  of  innocence. 

"We  have  got  to  hear  your  report,  brother  Peter;  the 
narrative  of  your  late  conversation  with  Major  JStapylton; 
given,  as  nearly  as  your  memory  will  serve,  in  the  exact 
words  and  in  the  precise  order  everything  occurred." 

"October  the  twenty-third,"  said  Withering,  writing  as 
he  spoke;  "minute  of  interview  between  P.  B.  and  Major 
S.  Taken  on  the  same  morning  it  occurred,  with  remarks 
and  observations  explanatory." 

"Begin,"  said  Dinah,  imperiously,  while  she  worked 
away  without  lifting  her  head.  "And  avoid,  so  far  as 
possible,  anything  beyond  the  precise  expression  employed." 

"But  you  don't  suppose  I  took  notes  in  shorthand  of  what 
we  said  to  each  other,  do  you?  " 

"I  certainly  suppose  you  can  have  retained  in  your  mem- 
ory a  conversation  that  took  place  two  hours  ago,"  said 
Miss  Dinah,  sternly. 

"And  can  relate  it  circumstantially  and  clearly,"  added 
Withering. 

"Then  I'm  very  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  can  do 
nothing  of  the  kind." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  had  no  interview  with 
Major  Stapylton,  Peter?" 

"Or  that  you  have  forgotten  all  about  it?"  said  With- 
ering. 

"Or  is  it  that  you  have  taken  a  pledge  of  secrecy,  brother 
Peter?" 

"No,  no,  no!  It  is  simply  this,  that  though  I  retain  a 
pretty  fair  general  impression  of  what  I  said  myself,  and 
what  he  said  afterwards,  I  could  no  more  pretend  to  recount 


CROSS-EXAMININGS.  65 

it  accurately  than  I  could  say  off  by  heart  a  scene  in '  Romeo 
and  Juliet.' " 

"Why  don't  you  take  the  '  Comedy  of  Errors'  for  your 
illustration,  Peter  Barriugton?  I  ask  you,  Mr.  Withering, 
have  you  in  all  your  experience  met  anything  like  this?  " 

"It  would  go  hard  with  a  man  in  the  witness-box  to  make 
such  a  declaration,  I  must  say." 

"What  would  a  jury  think  of,  what  would  a  judge  say  to 
him?"  said  she,  using  the  most  formidable  of  all  penalties 
to  her  brother's  imagination.  "Wouldn't  the  court  tell 
him  that  he  would  be  compelled  to  speak  out? " 

"They'd  have  it  out  on  the  cross-examination,  at  all 
events,  if  not  on  the  direct." 

"In  the  name  of  confusion,  what  do  you  want  with  me?" 
exclaimed  Peter,  in  despair, 

"We  want  everything,  — everything  that  you  heard  about 
this  man.  Who  he  is,  what  he  is;  what  by  the  father's 
side,  what  by  the  mother's;  what  are  his  means,  and  where; 
who  knows  him,  who  are  his  associates.  Bear  in  mind  that 
to  us,  here,  he  has  dropped  out  of  the  clouds." 

"And  gone  back  there  too,"  added  Withering. 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  he  had  taken  me  with  him!"  sighed 
Peter,  drearily. 

"I  think  in  this  case,  Miss  Barrington,"  said  Withering, 
with  a  well-affected  gravity,  "we  had  better  withdraw  a 
juror,  and  accept  a  nonsuit." 

"I  have  done  with  it  altogether,"  said  she,  gathering  up 
her  worsted  and  her  needles,  and  preparing  to  leave  the 
room. 

"My  dear  Dinah,"  said  Barrington,  entreatingly,  "ima- 
gine a  man  as  wanting  in  tact  as  I  am,  — and  as  timid,  too, 
about  giving  casual  offence,  —  conducting  such  an  inquiry 
as  you  committed  to  my  hands.  Fancy  how,  at  every 
attempt  to  obtain  information,  his  own  boldness,  I  might 
call  it  rudeness,  stared  him  in  the  face,  till  at  last,  rather 
than  push  his  investigations,  he  grew  puzzled  how  to  apolo- 
gize for  his  prying  curiosity." 

"Brother,  brother,  this  is  too  bad!  It  had  been  better  to 
have  thought  more  of  your  granddaughter's  fate  and  less  of 
your  own  feelings."     And  with  this  she  flounced  out  of  the 

VOL.    II.  —  5 


66  BARRINGTON. 

room,  upsetting  a  spider-table,  and  a  case  of  stuffed  birds 
that  stood  on  it,  as  she  passed. 

"I  don't  doubt  but  she's  right,  Tom,"  said  Peter,  when 
the  door  closed. 

"Did  he  not  tell  you  who  he  was,  and  what  his  fortune? 
Did  you  really  learn  nothing  from  him?" 

"He  told  me  everything;  and  if  I  had  not  been  so 
cruelly  badgered,  I  could  have  repeated  every  word  of  it; 
but  you  never  made  a  hound  true  to  the  scent  by  flogging 
him,  Tom,  —  is  n't  that  a  fact,  eh?  "  And  consoled  by  an 
illustration  that  seemed  so  pat  to  his  case,  he  took  his  hat 
and  strolled  out  into  the  garden. 


I 


iOiA&y^y. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

GENERAL    CONYERS. 

In  a  snug  little  room  of  the  Old  Ship  Hotel,  at  Dover,  a 
large,  heavy  man,  with  suow-white  hair,  and  moustaches, 
—  the  latter  less  common  in  those  days  than  the  present,  — 
sat  at  table  with  a  younger  one,  so  like  him  that  no  doubt 
could  have  existed  as  to  their  being  father  and  son.  They 
had  dined,  and  were  sitting  over  their  wine,  talking  occa- 
sionally, but  oftener  looking  fondly  and  affectionately  at 
each  other ;  and  once,  by  an  instinct  of  sudden  love,  grasp- 
ing each  other's  hand,  and  sitting  thus  several  minutes  with- 
out a  word  on  either  side. 

"You  did  not  expect  me  before  to-morrow,  Fred,"  said 
the  old  man,  at  last. 

"No,  father,"  replied  young  Conyers.  "I  saw  by  the 
newspapers  that  you  were  to  dine  at  the  Tuileries  on  Tues- 
day, and  I  thought  you  would  not  quit  Paris  the  same 
evening." 

"Yes;  I  started  the  moment  I  took  off  my  uniform.  I 
wanted  to  be  with  you,  my  boy;  and  the  royal  politeness 
that  detained  me  was  anything  but  a  favor.  How  you  have 
grown,  Fred,  — almost  my  own  height,  I  believe." 

"The  more  like  you  the  better,"  said  the  youth,  as  his 
eyes  ran  over,  and  the  old  man  turned  away  to  hide  his 
emotion. 

After  a  moment  he  said:  "How  strange  you  should  not 
have  got  my  letters,  Fred ;  but,  after  all,  it  is  just  as  well  as 
it  is.  I  wrote  in  a  very  angry  spirit,  and  was  less  just  than 
a  little  cool  reflection  might  have  made  me.  They  made  no 
charges  against  me,  though  I  thought  they  had.  There  were 
grumblings  and  discontents,   and    such-like.      They  called 


68  BARKINGTON. 

iiie  a  Rajah,  and  raked  up  all  tbe  old  stories  tbej'  used  to 
circulate  once  on  a  time  about  a  far  better  fellow  —  " 

"You  mean  Colonel  Harrington,  don't  you?"  said  Fred. 

"Where  or  how  did  you  hear  of  that  name?  "  said  the  old 
man,  almost  sternly. 

"An  accident  made  me  the  guest  of  his  family,  at  a  little 
cottage  they  live  in  on  an  Irish  river.  I  passed  weeks 
there,  and,  through  the  favor  of  the  name  I  bore,  I  received 
more  kindness  than  I  ever  before  met  in  life." 

"And  they  knew  you  to  be  a  Conyers,  and  to  be  my 
son  ?  " 

"It  was  Colonel  Barriugton's  aunt  was  my  hostess,  and 
she  it  was  who,  on  hearing  my  name,  admitted  me  at  once 
to  all  the  privileges  of  old  friendship.  She  told  me  of  the 
close  companionship  which  once  subsisted  between  you  and 
her  nephew,  and  gave  me  rolls  of  his  letters  to  read  wherein 
every  line  spoke  of  you." 

"And  Mr.  Barrington,  the  father  of  George,  how  did  he 
receive  you?" 

"At  first  with  such  coolness  that  I  could  n't  bring  myself 
to  recross  his  threshold.  He  had  been  away  from  home 
when  I  arrived,  and  the  day  of  his  return  I  was  unexpect- 
edly presented  to  him  by  his  sister,  who  evidently  was  as 
unprepared  as  myself  for  the  reception  I  met  with." 

"And  what  was  that  reception, — how  was  it?  Tell  me 
all  as  it  happened." 

"It  was  the  affair  of  a  moment.  Miss  Barrington  intro- 
duced me,  saying,  '  This  is  the  son  of  poor  George's  dearest 
friend,  — this  is  a  Conyers; '  and  the  old  man  faltered,  and 
seemed  like  to  faint,  and  after  a  moment  stammered  out 
something  about  an  honor  he  had  never  counted  upon,  —  a 
visit  he  scarcely  could  have  hoped  for;  and,  indeed,  so  over- 
come was  he  that  he  staggered  into  the  house  only  to  take 
to  his  bed,  where  he  la}'  seriously  ill  for  several  days  after." 

"Poor  fellow!     It  was  hard  to  forgive,  — very  hard." 

"Ay,  but  he  has  forgiven  it  —  whatever  it  was  —  heartily, 
and  wholly  forgiven  it.  We  met  afterwards  by  a  chance  in 
Germany,  and  while  I  was  hesitating  how  to  avoid  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  painful  scene  which  marked  our  first  meeting,  he 
came  manfully  towards  me  with    his  hand  out,  and  said, 


GENERAL   CONYERS.  69 

•  I  have  a  forgiveness  to  beg  of  3'ou ;  and  if  you  only  know 
how  I  long  to  obtain  it,  you  would  scarce  say  me  no. '  " 

"The  worthy  father  of  poor  George!  I  think  I  hear  him 
speak  the  very  words  himself.  Go  on,  Fred,  — go  on,  and 
tell  me  further." 

"There  is  no  more  to  tell,  sir,  unless  I  speak  of  all  the 
affectionate  kindness  he  has  shown, — the  trustfulness  and 
honor  with  which  he  has  treated  me.  I  have  been  in  his 
house  like  his  own  sou." 

"Ah!  if  you  had  known  that  sou!  If  you  had  seen  what 
a  type  of  a  soldier  he  was!  The  most  intrepid,  the  boldest 
fellow  that  ever  breathed;  but  with  a  heart  of  childlike  sim- 
plicity and  gentleness.  I  could  tell  you  traits  of  him,  of 
his  forbearance,  his  forgiveness,  his  generous  devotion  to 
friendship,  that  would  seem  to  bespeak  a  nature  that  had 
no  room  for  other  than  soft  and  tender  emotion ;  and  yet, 
if  ever  there  was  a  lion's  heart  within  a  man's  bosom  it 
was  his."  For  a  moment  or  two  the  old  man  seemed  over- 
come by  his  recollections,  and  then,  as  if  by  an  effort,  rally- 
ing himself,  he  went  on:  "You  have  often  heard  the  adage, 
Fred,  that  enjoins  watching  one's  pennies  and  leaving  the 
pounds  to  take  care  of  themselves;  and  yet,  trust  me,  the 
maxim  is  truer  as  applied  to  our  morals  than  our  money. 
It  is  by  the  smaller,  finer,  and  least  important  traits  of  a 
man  that  his  fate  in  life  is  fashioned.  The  caprices  we  take 
no  pains  to  curb,  the  tempers  we  leave  unchecked,  the  petty 
indulgences  we  extend  to  our  vanity  and  self-love,  —  these 
are  the  great  sands  that  wreck  us  far  oftener  than  the  more 
stern  and  formidable  features  of  our  character.  I  ought  to 
know  this  truth ;  I  myself  lost  the  best  and  truest  and  the 
noblest  friend  that  ever  man  had,  just  from  the  exercise  of 
a  spirit  of  bantering  and  ridicule  which  amused  those  about 
me,  and  gave  me  that  pre-eminence  which  a  sarcastic  and 
witty  spirit  is  sure  to  assert.  You  know  already  how 
George  Barrington  and  I  lived  together  like  brothers.  I  do 
not  believe  two  men  ever  existed  more  thoroughly  and  sin- 
cerely attached  to  each  other.  All  the  contrarieties  of  our 
dispositions  sers^ed  but  to  heighten  the  interest  that  linked 
us  together.  As  for  myself,  I  was  never  wearied  in  explor- 
ing the  strange  recesses  of  that  great  nature  that  seemed  to 


70  BARKINGTON. 

unite  all  that  could  be  daring  and  dashing  in  man  with  the 
tenderness  of  a  woman.  1  believe  I  knew  him  far  better 
than  he  knew  himself.  But  to  come  to  what  I  wanted  to  tell 
you,  and  which  is  an  agony  to  me  to  dwell  on.  Though  for 
a  long  while  our  close  friendship  was  known  in  the  regi- 
ment, and  spoken  of  as  a  thing  incapable  of  change,  a  sort 
of  rumor  —  no,  not  even  a  rumor,  but  an  impression  — 
seemed  to  gain,  that  the  ties  between"  us  were  looser  on  my 
side  than  his;  that  George  looked  up  to  me,  and  thatl,  with 
the  pride  of  a  certain  superiority,  rather  lorded  it  over  him. 
This  feeling  became  painfully  strengthened  when  it  got  about 
that  Barrington  had  lent  me  the  greater  part  of  the 
purchase-money  for  my  troop,  —  a  promotion,  by  the  way, 
which  barred  his  own  advancement,  — and  it  was  whispered, 
so  at  least  I  heard,  that  Barrington  was  a  mere  child  in 
my  hands,  whom  I  rebuked  or  rewarded  at  pleasure.  If  I 
could  have  traced  these  rumors  to  any  direct  source,  I  could 
have  known  how  to  deal  with  them.  As  it  was,  they  were 
vague,  shadowy,  and  unreal;  and  their  very  unsubstantiality 
maddened  me  the  more.  To  have  told  George  of  them 
would  have  been  rasher  still.  The  thought  of  a  wrong  done 
to  me  would  have  driven  him  beyond  all  reason,  and  he 
would  infallibly  have  compromised  himself  beyond  recall. 
It  was  the  very  first  time  in  my  life  I  had  a  secret  from 
him,  and  it  eat  into  my  heart  like  a  virulent  disease.  The 
consciousness  that  I  was  watched,  the  feeling  that  eyes  were 
upon  me  marking  all  I  did,  and  tongues  were  commenting 
on  all  I  said,  exasperated  me,  and  at  one  moment  I  would 
parade  my  friendship  for  Barrington  in  a  sort  of  spirit  of 
defiance,  and  at  another,  as  though  to  give  the  lie  to  my 
slanderers,  treat  him  with  indifference  and  carelessness,  as 
it  were,  to  show  that  I  was  not  bound  to  him  by  the  weight 
of  a  direct  obligation,  and  that  our  relations  involved 
nothing  of  dependence.  It  was  when,  by  some  cruel  mis- 
chance, I  had  been  pursuing  this  spirit  to  its  extreme,  that 
the  conversation  one  night  at  mess  turned  upon  sport  and 
tiger-hunting.  Many  stories  were  told,  of  course,  and  we 
had  the  usual  narratives  of  hairbreadth  escapes  and  perils 
of  the  most  appalling  kind;  till,  at  length,  some  one  —  I 
forget    exactly    who    it   was  —  narrated    a    single-handed 


GENERAL   COXYERS.  71 

encounter  with  a  jaguar,  which  in  horror  exceeded  anything 
we  had  heard  before.  The  details  were  alone  not  so  terrible, 
but  the  circumstances  so  marvellous,  that  one  and  all  who 
listened  cried  out,  '  Who  did  it?  ' 

"  '  The  man  who  told  me  the  tale,'  replied  the  narrator, 
'  and  who  will  probably  be  back  to  relate  it  here  to  you  in  a 
few  days,  —  Colonel  Barringtou. ' 

"I  have  told  you  the  devilish  spirit  which  had  me  in  pos- 
session. I  have  already  said  that  I  was  in  one  of  those 
moods  of  insolent  mockery  in  which  nothing  was  sacred  to 
me.  No  sooner,  then,  did  I  hear  Barriugton's  name  than  I 
burst  into  a  hearty  laugh,  and  said,  '  Oh!  if  it  was  one  of 
George  Barringtou's  tigers,  you  ought  to  have  mentioned 
that  fact  at  the  outset.  You  have  been  exciting  our  feel- 
ings unfairly.' 

"  '  I  assume  that  his  statement  was  true,'  said  the  other, 
gravely. 

"  '  Doubtless;  just  as  battle-pieces  are  true,  that  is,  pic- 
torially  true.  The  tiger  did  nothing  that  a  tiger  ought  not 
to  do,  nor  did  George  transgress  any  of  those  "unities" 
which  such  combats  require.  At  the  same  time,  Barring- 
ton's  stories  have  always  a  something  about  them  that 
stamps  the  authorship,  and  you  recognize  this  trait  just  as 
you  do  a  white  horse  in  a  picture  by  Wouvermans.' 

"In  this  strain  I  went  on,  heated  by  my  own  warmed 
imagination,  and  the  approving  laughter  of  those  around 
me.  I  recounted  more  than  one  feat  of  Barringtou's,  — 
things  which  I  knew  he  had  done,  some  of  them  almost 
incredible  in  boldness.  These  I  told  with  many  a  humorous 
addition  and  many  an  absurd  commentary,  convulsing 
the  listeners  with  laughter,  and  rendering  my  friend 
ridiculous. 

"He  came  back  from  the  hills  within  the  week,  and  before 
he  was  two  hours  in  his  quarters  he  had  heard  the  whole 
story.  We  were  at  luncheon  in  the  mess-room  when  he 
entered,  flushed  and  excited,  but  far  more  moved  by  emo- 
tion than  resentment. 

"  '  Ormsby,'  said  he,  '  you  may  laugh  at  me  to  your  heart's 
content  and  I'll  never  grumble  at  it;  but  there  are  some 
young  officers  here  who,  not  knowing  the  ties  that  attach  us, 


72  BARRINGTON. 

may  fancy  that  these  quizzings  pass  the  limits  of  mere 
drollery,  and  even  jeopardize  something  of  my  truthfulness. 
You,  1  know,  never  meant  this  any  more  than  I  have  felt  it, 
but  others  might,  and  might,  besides,  on  leaving  this  and 
sitting  at  other  tables,  repeat  what  they  had  heard  here. 
Tell  them  that  you  spoke  of  me  as  you  have  a  free  right  to 
do,  in  jest,  and  that  your  ridicule  was  the  good-humored 
banter  of  a  friend,  —  of  a  friend  who  never  did,  never  could, 
impugn  my  honor. ' 

"His  eyes  were  swimming  over,  and  his  lips  trembling, 
as  he  uttered  the  last  words.  I  see  him  now,  as  he  stood 
there,  bis  very  cheek  shaking  in  agitation.  That  brave, 
bold  fellow,  who  would  have  marched  up  to  a  battery  with- 
out quailing,  shook  like  a  sickly  girl. 

"  '  Am  I  to  say  that  you  never  draw  the  long-bow, 
George?'  asked  I,  half  insolently. 

"  '  You  are  to  say,  sir,  that  I  never  told  a  lie,'  cried  he, 
dark  with  passion. 

"  '  Oh,  this  discussion  will  be  better  carried  on  else- 
where,' said  I,  as  1  arose  and  left  the  room. 

"  As  I  was  in  the  wrong,  totally  in  the  wrong,  I  was  pas- 
sionate and  headstrong.  I  sat  down  and  wrote  a  most  inso- 
lent letter  to  Barrington.  I  turned  all  the  self-hate  that 
was  consuming  rne  against  my  friend,  and  said  I  know  not 
what  of  outrage  and  insult.  I  did  worse ;  I  took  a  copy  of 
my  letter,  and  declared  that  I  would  read  it  to  the  officers  in 
the  mess-room.  He  sent  a  friend  to  me  to  beg  I  would  not 
take  this  course  of  open  insult.  My  answer  was,  '  Colonel 
Barrington  knows  his  remedy.'  When  I  sent  this  message, 
I  prepared  for  what  I  felt  certain  would  follow.  I  knew 
Barrington  so  well  that  I  thought  even  the  delay  of  an  hour, 
then  two  hours,  strange.  At  length  evening  drew  nigh, 
and,  though  I  sat  waiting  in  my  quarters,  no  one  came  from 
him,  — not  a  letter  nor  a  line  apprised  me  what  course  he 
meant  to  take. 

"Not  caring  to  meet  the  mess  at  such  a  moment,  I  ordered 
my  horses  and  drove  up  to  a  small  station  about  twenty 
miles  off,  leaving  word  where  I  was  to  be  found.  I  passed 
three  days  there  in  a  state  of  fevered  expectancy.  Barring- 
ton made  no  sign,  and,  at  length,  racked  and  distressed  by 


GENERAL  CONYERS.  73 

the  conflict  with  myself,  —  now  summoning  up  an  insolent 
spirit  of  defiance  to  the  whole  world,  now  humbling  myself 
in  a  consciousness  of  the  evil  line  1  had  adopted, — I  re- 
turned one  night  to  my  quarters.  The  first  news  that 
greeted  me  was  that  Barrington  had  left  us.  He  had 
accepted  the  offer  of  a  Native  command  which  had  been 
made  to  him  some  months  before,  and  of  which  we  had  often 
canvassed  together  all  the  advantages  and  disadvantages. 
I  heard  that  he  had  written  two  letters  to  me  before  he 
started,  and  torn  them  up  after  they  were  sealed.  I  never 
heard  from  him,  never  saw  him  more,  till  I  saw  his  dead 
body  carried  into  camp  the  morning  he  fell. 

"I  must  get  to  the  end  of  this  quickl3%  Fred,  and  I  will 
tell  you  all  at  once,  for  it  is  a  theme  I  will  never  go  back 
on.  I  came  to  England  with  despatches  about  two  years 
after  Barrington's  death.  It  was  a  hurried  visit,  for  I  was 
ordered  to  hold  myself  in  readiness  to  return  almost  as  soon 
as  I  arrived.  I  was  greatly  occupied,  going  about  from 
place  to  place,  and  person  to  person,  so  many  great  people 
desired  to  have  a  verbal  account  of  what  was  doing  in  India, 
and  to  hear  confidentially  what  I  thought  of  matters  there. 
In  the  midst  of  the  mass  of  letters  which  the  post  brought 
me  every  morning,  and  through  which,  without  the  aid  of 
an  officer  on  the  staff,  I  could  never  have  got  through,  there 
came  one  whose  singular  address  struck  me.  It  was  to 
'Captain  Ormsby  Conyers,  22d  Light  Dragoons,'  a  rank  I 
had  held  fourteen  years  before  that  time  in  that  same  regi- 
ment. I  opined  at  once  that  my  correspondent  must  have 
been  one  who  had  known  me  at  that  time  and  not  followed 
me  in  the  interval.  I  was  right.  It  was  from  old  Mr. 
Barrington, — George  Barrington's  father.  What  version 
of  my  quarrel  with  his  son  could  have  reached  him,  I  can- 
not even  guess,  nor  by  what  light  he  read  my  conduct  in  the 
affair;  but  such  a  letter  I  never  read  in  my  life.  It  was  a 
challenge  to  meet  him  anywhere,  and  with  any  weapon,  but 
couched  in  language  so  insulting  as  to  impugn  my  courage, 
and  hint  that  I  would  probably  shelter  myself  behind  the 
pretext  of  his  advanced  age.  '  But  remember,'  said  he,  '  if 
God  has  permitted  me  to  be  an  old  man,  it  is  you  who  have 
made  me  a  childless  one! '  ^ 


74  BARRINGTON. 

For  a  few  seconds  he  i)aused,  overcome  by  emotion,  and 
then  went  on:  "I  sat  down  and  wrote  him  a  letter  of  contri- 
tion, almost  abject  in  its  terms.  I  entreated  him  to  believe 
that  for  every  wrong  I  had  done  his  noble-hearted  son,  my 
own  conscience  had  repaid  me  in  misery  ten  times  told; 
that  if  he  deemed  my  self-condemnation  insutficient,  it  was 
open  to  him  to  add  to  it  whatever  he  wished  of  obloquy  or 
shame;  that  if  he  proclaimed  me  a  coward  before  the  world, 
and  degraded  me  in  the  ey.es  of  men,  I  would  not  offer  one 
word  in  my  defence.  I  cannot  repeat  all  that  I  said  in  my 
deep  humiliation.  His  answer  came  at  last,  one  single  line, 
re-enclosing  my  own  letter  to  me:  '  Lest  I  should  be  tempted 
to  make  use  of  this  letter,  I  send  it  back  to  you;  there  is  no 
need  of  more  between  us.' 

"With  this  our  intercourse  ceased.  When  a  correspond- 
ence was  published  in  the  '  Harrington  Inquiry,'  as  it  was 
called,  I  half  hoped  he  would  have  noticed  some  letters  of 
mine  about  George;  but  he  never  did,  and  in  his  silence  I 
thought  I  read  his  continued  unforgiveness." 

"I  hope,  father,  that  you  never  believed  the  charges  that 
were  made  against  Captain  Barrington?" 

"Not  one  of  them;  disloj-alty  was  no  more  his  than 
cowardice.  I  never  knew  the  Englishman  with  such  a  pride 
of  country  as  he  had,  nor  could  j'ou  have  held  out  a  greater 
bribe  to  him,  for  any  achievement  of  peril,  than  to  say, 
*  What  a  gain  it  would  be  for  England! '  " 

"How  was  it  that  such  a  man  should  have  had  a  host  of 
enemies?  " 

"Nothing  so  natural.  Barrington  was  the  most  diffident 
of  men;  his  bashfulness  amounted  to  actual  pain.  With 
strangers,  this  made  him  cold  to  very  sternness,  or,  as  is 
often  seen  in  the  effort  to  conquer  a  natural  defect,  gave 
him  a  manner  of  over-easy  confidence  that  looked  like  imper- 
tinence. And  thus  the  man  who  would  not  have  wounded 
the  self-love  of  the  meanest  beggar,  got  the  reputation  of 
being  haughty,  insolent,  and  oppressive.  Besides  this, 
when  he  was  in  the  right,  and  felt  himself  so,  he  took  no 
pains  to  convince  others  of  the  fact.  His  maxim  was,  — 
have  T  not  heard  it  from  his  lips  scores  of  times,  — 'The 
end  will  show.'  " 


GENERAL   CONYERS.  75 

"And  yet  the  end  will  uot  show,  father;  his  fame  has  not 
been  vindicated,  nor  his  character  cleared." 

"In  some  measure  the  fault  of  those  who  took  up  his 
cause.  They  seemed  less  to  insist  on  reparation  than 
punishment.  They  did  not  say,  '  Do  justice  to  this  man's 
memor}' ; '  but,  '  Come  forward  and  owu  you  wronged  him, 
and  broke  his  heart.'  Now,  the  accusation  brought  against 
George  Barriugton  of  assuming  sovereign  power  was  not 
settled  by  his  death ;  his  relatives  forgot  this,  or  merged  it 
in  their  own  charge  against  the  Compan}-.  They  misman- 
aged everything." 

'•  Is  it  too  late  to  put  them  on  the  right  track,  father;  or 
could  you  do  it?"  asked  the  youth,  eagerly. 

"  It  is  not  too  late,  boy !  There  is  time  for  it  yet.  There 
is,  however,  one  condition  necessary,  and  I  do  not  see  how 
that  is  to  be  secured." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  I  should  see  Mr.  Barrington  and  confer  with  him  alone  ; 
he  must  admit  me  to  his  confidence,  and  I  own  to  you,  I 
scarcely  deem  that  possible." 

"  May  I  try  —  may  I  attempt  this?  " 

"I  do  not  like  to  refuse  you,  Fred:  but  if  I  say  Yes,  it 
will  be  to  include  you  in  my  own  defeated  hopes.  For  many 
a  year  Mr.  Barrington  has  refused  to  give  one  sign  of  his 
forgiveness  ;  for  in  his  treatment  of  you  I  only  recognize  the 
honorable  feeling  of  exempting  the  son  from  the  penalty 
due  to  the  father.  But  perhaps  defeat  is  better  than  self- 
reproach,  and  as  I  have  a  strong  conviction  I  could  serve 
him,  I  am  ready  to  risk  a  failure." 

"I  may  make  the  attempt,  then?"  said  Fred,  eagerly. 
"  I  will  write  to  Miss  Barrington  to-day." 

"  And  now  of  yourself.  What  of  your  career?  How  do 
you  like  soldiering,  boy?" 

"Less  than  ever,  sir;  it  is  only  within  the  last  week  or 
two  that  we  have  seen  anything  beyond  barrack  or  parade 
duty.  Now,  however,  we  have  been  called  to  repress  what 
are  called  risings  in  the  northern  shires ;  and  our  task  has 
been  to  ride  at  large  unarmed  mobs  and  charge  down 
masses,  whose  grape-shot  are  brickbats.  Not  a  very  glori- 
ous campaign !  " 


76  BARRINGTON. 

The  old  man  smiled,  but  said  nothing  for  a  moment. 

"  Your  colonel  is  on  leave,  is  he  not?"  asked  he. 

*'  Yes.  We  are  commanded  by  that  Major  Stapylton  I 
told  you  of." 

"  A  smart  officer,  but  no  friend  of  yours,  Fred,"  said  the 
General,  smiling. 

"No,  sir;  certainly  no  friend  of  mine,"  said  the  young 
man,  resolutely.  "  To  refuse  me  a  week's  leave  to  go  and 
meet  my  father,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  years,  and,  when 
pressed,  to  accord  me  four  days,  is  to  disgust  me  with  him- 
self and  the  service  together." 

"  "Well,  as  you  cannot  be  my  guest,  Fred,  I  will  be  yours. 
I  '11  go  back  with  you  to  headquarters.  Stapylton  is  a  name 
I  used  to  be  familiar  with  long  ago.  It  may  turn  out  that  I 
know  his  family;  but  let  us  talk  of  Barrington.  I  have 
been  thinking  it  would  be  better  not  to  link  any  question  of 
his  own  interests  with  my  desire  to  meet  him,  but  simply  to 
say  I  'm  in  England,  and  wish  to  know  if  he  would  receive 
me. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  sir.  I  will  write  to  his  sister  by 
this  post." 

"And  after  one  day  in  town,  Fred,  I  am  ready  to  accom- 
pany you  anywhere." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MAJOR   M'CORMICK's    LETTER. 

As  it  was  not  often  that  Major  M'Cormick  performed  the 
part  of  a  letter-writer,  perhaps  my  reader  will  pardon  me 
if  I  place  him  before  him  on  one  of  these  rare  occasions. 
If  success  would  always  respond  to  labor,  his  would  have 
been  a  real  triumph  ;  for  the  effort  cost  him  many  days,  two 
sleepless  nights,  a  headache,  and  half  a  quire  of  paper. 

Had  not  Stapylton  retained  him  by  an  admirably  selected 
hamper  of  good  things  from  a  celebrated  Italian  warehouse 
in  the  Strand,  I  am  afraid  that  M'Cormick's  zeal  might  have 
cooled  down  to  the  zero  of  forgetfulness ;  but  the  reindeer 
hams  and  the  Yarmouth  bloaters,  the  potted  shrimps  and  the 
preserved  guavas,  were  an  appeal  that  addressed  themselves 
to  that  organ  which  with  him  paid  the  double  debt  of  diges- 
tion and  emotion.  He  felt  that  such  a  correspondent  was 
worth  a  sacrifice,  and  he  made  it.  That  my  reader  may 
appreciate  the  cost  of  the  achievement,  I  would  have  him 
imagine  how  a  mason  about  to  build  a  wall  should  be 
obliged  to  examine  each  stone  before  he  laid  it,  test  its 
constituent  qualities,  its  shape  and  its  size,  —  for  it  was  thus 
that  almost  every  word  occasioned  the  Major  a  reference  to 
the  dictionary,  spelling  not  having  been  cultivated  in  his 
youth,  nor  much  practised  in  his  riper  years.  Graces  of 
style,  however,  troubled  him  little ;  and,  to  recur  to  my 
figure  of  the  stone-mason,  if  he  was  embarrassed  in  his  search 
for  the  materials,  he  cared  wonderfully  little  for  the  archi- 
tecture. His  letter  ran  thus,  and  the  reader  will  perceive 
that  it  must  have  been  written  some  weeks  after  the  events 
recorded  in  the  last  chapter :  — 

"  Mac's  Nest,  October,  Thursday. 

"Dear  S., —  A  touch  of  my  old  Walcheren  complaint  Las  laid 
me  up  since  Tuesday,  and  if  the  shakes  make  me  illegible  now. 


78  BAKRINGTON. 

that 's  the  reason  why.  ISej'ides  this  the  weather  is  dreadful  ;  cold 
eat't  winds  and  rains,  sometimes  sleet,  every  day;  and  the  turf  so 
wet,  it 's  only  smoke,  not  fire.  I  believe  it  is  the  worst  climate  in 
Europe,  and  it  gets  wetter  every  year. 

"  'llie  hamper  eanie  to  hand,  i)ut  though  it  was  marked  '  Carriage 
paid,  tliis  side  up,'  they  upset  it  and  Lruke  two  bottles,  and  charged 
seven  and  fourpence-halfpeuny  for  the  bringing  it,  which  is,  I  think, 
enormous;  at  least,  Tim  llacket  got  over  a  tlirashing-machine  from 
iScotland  last  spring  for  twelve  and  four,  and  there  's  no  comparison 
between  the  two.  Thanks  to  you,  however,  all  the  same  ;  but  if  you 
can  get  any  of  this  charge  reduced,  so  much  the  better,  not  to  speak  • 
of  the  bottles,  —  both  mixed  pickles  —  which  they  ought  to  make 
good. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  touching  up  the  Radicals  in  the  North  ; 
powder  and  ball  will  do  more  to  bring  them  to  reason  than  spouting 
in  Parliament.  The  papers  say  there  was  nine  killed  and  twenty- 
three  wounded;  and  one  fellow,  the  'Stockport  Bee,'  says,  that  'if 
tlie  Butcher  that  led  the  dragoons  is  n't  turned  out  of  the  service  with 
disgrace  no  gentleman  will  degrade  himself  by  entering  the  army.' 
Isn't  the  Butcher  yourself?  Miss  Barrington,  always  your  friend, 
says  it  is;  and  that  if  the  account  of  another  paper,  called  the 
'  ^^gis,'  be  true,  you  '11  have  to  go  to  a  court-martial.  I  stood 
stoutly  to  you  through  it  all.  and  declared  that  when  the  niggers  was 
Tip  at  Jamaica,  we  had  n't  time  to  take  the  names  of  the  prisoners, 
and  we  always  cut  one  of  their  ears  off  to  know  them  again.  Old 
Peter  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  face,  but  Dinah  said,  '  If 
I  did  not  suppose,  sir,  that  you  were  inventing  a  very  graceless  joke, 
I  \1  insist  on  your  leaving  this  room  and  this  house  on  the  instant.' 
It  was  ten  o'clock  at  night,  and  raining  hard  ;  so  you  may  guess  I 
cave  in.  Bad  as  she  is,  the  young  one  is  her  equal,  and  I  gave  up 
all  thoughts  of  what  you  call  '  prosecuting  my  suit '  in  that  quarter. 
She  isn't  even  commonly  civil  to  me,  and  when  I  ask  her  for, 
maybe,  the  mustard  at  dinner,  she  turns  away  her  head,  and  says, 
'  Darby,  give  Major  ]\PCormick  the  salt.'  That's  French  politeness, 
perhaps;  but  I'll  pay  them  all  off  yet,  for  they  can't  get  sixpence 
on  the  mortgage,  and  I  'm  only  drinking  out  that  bin  of  old  ]\Iadeira 
before  I  tell  them  that  I  won't  advance  the  money.  Why  should  I? 
The  women  treat  me  worse  than  a  dog,  and  old  B.  is  neither  more 
nor  loss  than  a  fool.  Dill,  the  doctor,  however  be  got  it,  says  it 's 
all  up  about  the  suit  with  the  India  Company ;  that  there  's  no  proof 
of  the  Colonel's  marriage  at  all.  that  the  charges  against  him  were 
never  cleared  up,  and  that  nothing  can  come  out  of  it  but  more  dis- 
grace and  more  exposure. 

"  I  wish  you'd  send  me  the  correct  account  of  what  took  place 
between  you  and  one  of  your  suhalterns,  for  old  Dinah  keeps  harp- 


MAJOR   MCORMICK'S   LETTER.  .9 

in?  on  it  in  a  sort  of  mysterious  and  mischievous  way  of  her  own, 
that  provokes  me.  AVas  it  that  be  refused  to  obey  orders,  or  that 
you,  as  she  says,  used  such  language  towards  bim  that  he  wrote  to 
report  you  ?  Give  it  to  me  in  black  and  white,  and  maybe  I  won't 
try  her  temper  with  it.  At  all  events,  make  out  some  sort  of  a  case, 
for  the  old  woman  is  now  intolerable.  She  said  yesterday,  '  Major 
Stapvlton,  to  whom  I  write  by  this  post,  will  see  that  bis  visit  here 
must" be  preceded  by  an  explanation.'  There's  her  words  for  you, 
and  I  hope  you  like  them  ! 

"  I  think  you  are  right  to  be  in  no  hurry  about  purchasing,  for 
many  say  the  whole  system  will  be  changed  soon,  and  the  money 
would  be*  clean  thrown  away.  Besides  this,  I  have  been  looking 
over  mv  bank-book,  and  I  find  I  could  n't  help  you  just  now.  Two 
bad  harvests,  and  the  smut  in  the  wheat  last  year,  are  running  me 
mighty  close.  I  won't  finish  this  till  to-morrow,  for  I  'm  going  to 
dine  at  'The  Home'  to-day.  It  is  the  granddaughter's  birthday, 
and  there  was  a  regular  shindy  about  who  was  going  to  be  asked. 
Old  Peter  was  for  a  grand  celebration,  and  inviting  the  Admiral, 
and  the  Gores,  and  God  knows  who  besides  ;  and  Dinah  was  for 
what  she  called  a  family  party,  consisting,  I  suppose,  of  herself  and 
Darby.  I  'II  be  able,  before  I  close  this,  to  tell  you  how  it  was 
ended  ;  for  I  only  know  now  that  Dill  and  his  daughter  are  to  be 
there. 

"  Wednesday.  —  I  sit  down  with  a  murdering  headache  to  finish 
this  letter.  Maybe  it  was  the  pickled  lobster,  or  the  ice  punch,  or 
the  other  drink  they  called  champagne-cup  that  did  it.  But  I  never 
passed  such  a  night  since  T  was  in  the  trenches,  and  I  am  shaking 
still,  so  that  T  can  scarce  hold  the  pen.  It  was  a  grand  dinner,  to 
be  sure,  for  ruined  people  to  give.  Venison  from  Carrick  Woods, 
and  game  of  every  kind,  with  all  kinds  of  wine;  and  my  Lord  Car- 
rickmore  talking  to  Miss  Dinah,  and  the  Admiral  following  up  with 
the  niece,  and  Tom  Brabazon,  and  Dean  of  Deanspark,  and  the 
devil  knows  who  besides,  bringing  up  the  rear,  with  Dill  and  your 
obedient  servant.  Every  dish  that  came  in,  and  every  bottle  that 
was  uncorked,  I  said  to  myself,  '  There  goes  another  strap  on  the 
property: '  and  I  felt  as  if  we  were  eating  the  trees  and  the  timber 
and  the  meadows  all  the  time  at  table. 

"It's  little  of  the  same  sympathy  troubled  the  others.  My  Lord 
was  as  jolly  as  if  he  was  dining  with  the  King;  and  old  Cobham 
called  for  more  of  the  Madeira,  as  if  it  was  an  inn;  and  Peter  him- 
self—  the  heartless  old  fool  —  when  he  got  up  to  thank  the  company 
for  drinking  his  granddaughter's  health,  said,  '  May  I  trust  that 
even  at  my  advanced  age  this  may  not  be  the  last  time  I  may  have 
to  speak  my  gratitude  to  you  all  for  the  generous  warmth  with  which 
vou  have  pledged  this  toast;  but  even  should  it  be  so,  I  shall  carry 


80  BAR  KINGTON. 

away  with  me  from  this  evenin;i;'s  happiness  a  glow  of  pleasure  that 
will  animate  me  to  the  last.  It  was  only  this  morning  I  learned 
what  1  know  you  will  all  hear  with  satisfaction,  that  there  is  every 
probability  of  a  speedy  arrangement  of  my  long-pending  suit  with 
the  Company,  and  that  my  child  here  will  soon  have  her  own  again.' 
Grand  applause  and  huzzas,  with  a  noise  that  drowned  '  Bother  ! ' 
from  myself,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  row  up  jumps  the  Admiral, 
and  cries  out,  '  Three  cheers  more  for  the  Kajah's  daughter  !  '  I 
thought  the  old  roof  would  come  down ;  and  the  blackguards  in  the 
kitchen  took  up  the  cry  and  shouted  like  mad,  and  then  we  yelled 
again,  and  this  went  on  for  majbe  five  minutes.  '  What  does  it  all 
mean,'  says  I,  '  but  a  cheer  for  the  Court  of  Bankruptcy,  and  Hip, 
hip,  hurray  !  for  the  Marshalsea  Prison !  '  After  that,  he  had  half 
an  hour  or  more  of  flatteries  and  compliments.  ISIy  Lord  was  so 
happy,  and  Peter  Barrington  so  proud,  and  the  Admiral  so  delighted, 
and  the  rest  of  us  so  much  honored,  that  I  could  n't  stand  it  any 
longer,  but  stole  away,  and  got  into  the  garden,  to  taste  a  little  fresh 
air  and  quietness.  I  had  n't  gone  ten  paces,  when  I  came  plump 
upon  Miss  Dinah,  taking  her  coffee  under  a  tree.  '  You  are  a 
deserter,  I  fear,  sir,'  said  she,  in  her  own  snappish  way;  so  I 
thought  I  "d  pay  her  off,  and  I  said,  '  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Miss 
Barrington,  at  our  time  of  life  these  sort  of  things  are  more  full  of 
sadness  than  pleasure.  We  know  how  hollow  they  are,  and  how 
little  heart  there  is  in  the  cheers  of  the  people  that  are  so  jolly  over 
your  wine,  but  would  n't  stop  to  talk  to  you  when  you  came  down  to 
water ! ' 

"  'The  worse  we  think  of  the  world.  Major  M'Cormick,'  says  she, 
*  the  more  risk  we  run  of  making  ourselves  mean  enough  to  suit  it." 

"  '  I  don't  suspect,  ma'am,'  says  I,  '  that  when  people  have  known 
it  so  long  as  you  and  I,  that  they  are  greatly  in  love  with  it.* 

'"  They  may,  however,  be  mannerly  in  their  dealings  with  it,  sir,' 
said  she,  fiercely;  and  so  we  drew  the  game,  and  settled  the  men 
for  another  battle. 

" '  Is  there  anything  new,  ma'am  ?  '  says  I,  after  a  while. 

"  '  T  believe  not,  sir.  The  bread  riots  still  continue  in  the  North, 
where  what  would  seem  the  needless  severity  of  some  of  the  military 
commanders  has  only  exasperated  the  people.  You  have  heard, 
I  suppose,  of  Major  Stapylton's  business  ? ' 

*' '  Xot  a  word,  ma'am,'  says  I ;  '  for  I  never  see  a  paper.' 

"  'I  know  very  little  of  the  matter  myself,'  says  she.  'It  was,  it 
would  appear,  at  some  night  assemblage  at  a  place  called  Lund's 
Common.  A  young  officer  sent  forward  by  Major  Stapylton  to  dis- 
perse the  people,  was  so  struck  by  the  destitution  and  misery  he 
witnessed,  and  the  respectful  attitude  they  exhibited,  that  he  hesi- 
tated about  employing  force,  and  restricted  himself  to  counsels  of 


MAJOR  M'CORMICK'S  LETTER.  81 

quietness  and  submission.  He  did  more,  —  not  perhaps  very  pru- 
dently, as  some  would  say,  —  he  actually  emptied  his  pockets  of  all 
the  money  he  had,  giving  even  his  watch  to  aid  the  starving  horde 
before  him.  What  precise  version  of  his  conduct  reached  his 
superior,  I  cannot  say;  but  certainly  Major  Stapylton  commented 
on  it  in  terms  of  the  harshest  severity,  and  he  even  hinted  at  a 
reason  for  the  forbearance  too  offensive  for  any  soldier  to  endure.' 

"  She  did  not  seem  exactly  to  know  what  followed  after  this,  but 
some  sort  of  inquiry  appeared  to  take  place,  and  witnesses  were 
examined  as  to  what  really  occurred  at  Lund's  Common ;  and 
amongst  others,  a  Lascar,  who  was  one  of  the  factory  hands,  — 
having  come  to  England  a  great  many  years  before  with  an  officer 
from  India.  This  fellow's  evidence  was  greatly  in  favor  of  young 
Conyers,  and  was  subjected  to  a  very  severe  cross-examination  from 
yourself,  in  the  middle  of  which  he  said  something  in  Hindostanee 
that  nobody  in  the  court  understood  but  you ;  and  after  this  he  was 
soon  dismissed  and  the  case  closed  for  that  day. 

'"  What  do  you  think.  Major  M'Cormick,'  said  she,  'but  when  the 
coui't  of  incjuiry  opened  the  next  morning,  Lal-Adeen,  the  Lascar, 
was  not  to  be  found  high  or  low.  The  court  have  suspended  their 
sittings  to  search  for  him ;  but  only  one  opinion  prevails,  —  that 
Major  Stapylton  knows  more  of  this  man's  escape  than  he  is  likely 
to  tell.'  I  have  taken  great  pains  to  give  you  her  own  very  words 
in  all  this  business,  and  I  wrote  them  down  the  moment  I  got  home, 
for  I  thought  to  myself  you  "d  maybe  write  about  the  matter  to  old 
Peter,  and  you  ought  to  be  prepared  for  the  way  they  look  at  it ; 
the  more  because  Miss  Dinah  has  a  liking  for  young  Conyers,  — 
what  she  calls  a  motherly  affection ;  but  I  don't  believe  in  the 
motherly  part  of  it !  But  of  course  you  care  very  httle  what  the 
people  here  say  about  you  at  all.  At  least,  I  know  it  would  n't 
trouble  me  much,  if  I  was  in  your  place.  At  all  events,  whatever 
you  do,  do  with  a  high  hand,  and  the  Horse  Guards  is  sure  to  stand 
to  you.  Moderation  may  be  an  elegant  thing  in  civil  life,  but  I 
never  knew  it  succeed  in  the  army.  There  's  the  rain  coming  on 
again,  and  I  just  sent  out  six  cars  to  the  bog  for  turf;  so  I  must 
conclude,  and  remain,  yours  sincerely, 

"Daniel  T.  M'Cormick. 

"  I  'm  thinking  of  foreclosing  the  small  mortgage  I  hold  on  '  The 
Home.'  but  as  they  pay  the  interest  regularly,  five  •  per  cent,  I 
would  n't  do  it  if  I  knew  things  were  going  on  reasonably  well  with 
them ;  send  mc  a  line  about  wiiat  is  doing  regarding  the  '  claim,'  and 
it  will  guide  me." 

While  Major  M'Cormick  awaited  the  answer  to  his  post- 

VOL.   II.  —  6 


82  BARRINGTON. 

script,  which  to  him  —  as  to  a  lady  —  was  the  important 
part  of  his  letter,  a  short  note  arrived  at  '  The  Home  '  from 
Mr.  Withering,  enclosing  a  letter  he  had  just  received  from 
Major  Stapylton.  Withering's  communication  was  in  answer 
to  one  from  Barrington,  and  ran  thus :  — 

"  Dear  B.,  —  All  things  considered,  I  believe  you  are  right  in 
not  receiving  General  Conyers  at  this  moment.  It  would  probably, 
as  you  suspect,  enable  calumnious  people  to  say  that  you  could 
make  your  resentments  jilay  second  when  they  came  in  the  way  of 
your  interests.  If  matters  go  on  well,  as  I  have  every  hope  they 
will,  you  can  make  the  amende  to  him  more  sati.«factorily  and  more 
gracefully  hereafter.  Buxton  has  at  length  consented  to  bring  the 
case  before  the  House ;  of  course  it  will  not  go  to  a  division,  nor,  if 
it  did,  could  it  be  carried  ;  but  the  discussion  will  excite  interest,  the 
Press  will  take  it  up,  and  after  a  few  regretful  and  half-civil  ex- 
pressions from  the  Ministry,  the  India  Board  will  see  the  necessity 
of  an  arrangement. 

"  It  is  somewhat  unfortunate  and  mal  a  propos  that  Stapylton 
should  at  this  moment  have  got  into  an  angry  collision  with  young 
Conyers.  I  have  not  followed  the  case  closely,  but,  as  usual  in  such 
things,  they  seem  each  of  them  in  the  wrong,  —  the  young  sub  want- 
ing to  make  his  generous  sympathy  supply  the  place  of  military 
obedience,  and  the  old  officer  enforcing  discipline  at  the  cost  of  very 
harsh  language.  I  learn  this  morning  that  Conyers  has  sold  out, 
intending  to  demand  a  personal  satisfaction.  You  will  see  by  S.'s 
letter  that  he  scarcely  alludes  to  this  part  of  the  transaction  at  all. 
S.  feels  very  painfully  the  attacks  of  the  Press,  and  sees,  perhaps, 
more  forcibly  than  I  should  in  his  place,  the  necessity  of  an  exchange. 
Read  attentively  the  portion  I  have  underlined." 

It  is  to  this  alone  I  have  to  direct  my  readers'  attention, 
the  first  two  sides  of  the  letter  being  entirely  filled  with 
details  about  the  "claim":  — 

" '  The  newspapers  have  kept  me  before  you  for  some  days  back, 
much  more,  I  doubt  not,  to  their  readers'  amusement  than  to  my 
own  gratification.  I  could,  if  T  pleased,  have  told  these  slanderers 
that  i  did  not  charge  a  crowd  of  women  and  children,  —  that  I  did 
not  cut  down  an  elderly  man  at  his  own  door-sill,  —  that  I  did  not 
use  language  "  offensive  and  unbecoming  "  to  one  of  my  officers,  for 
his  having  remonstrated  in  the  name  of  humanity  against  the  cruelty 
of  my  orders.  In  a  word,  I  mifrht  have  shown  the  contemptible 
scribblers  that  I  knew  how  to  temper  duty  with  discretion,  as  I  shall 


MAJOR   M'CORMICK'S   LETTER.  83 

know  how,  when  the  occasion  offers,  to  make  the  punishment  of  a 
calumniator  a  terror  to  his  colleagues.  However,  there  is  a  very 
absurd  story  going  about  of  a  fellow  whose  insolence  I  certainly  did 
reply  to  with  the  flat  of  my  sabre,  and  whom  I  should  be  but  too 
happy  to  punish  legally,  if  he  could  be  apprehended.  That  he  made 
his  escape  after  being  captured,  and  that  I  connived  at  or  assisted 
in  it,  —  I  forget  which,  —  you  have  probably  heard.  In  fact,  there 
is  nothing  too  incredible  to  say  of  me  for  the  moment ;  and  what 
is  worse,  I  begin  to  suspect  that  the  Home  Secretary,  having 
rather  burned  his  fingers  in  the  business,  will  not  be  very  sorry  to 
make  an  Admiral  Byng  of  a  Major  of  Hussars.  For  each  and  all 
these  reasons  1  mean  to  exchange,  and,  if  possible,  into  a  regiment  in 
India.  This  will,  of  course,  take  some  time ;  meanwhile,  I  have 
asked  for  and  obtained  some  months'  leave.  You  will  be  surprised 
at  my  troubling  you  with  so  much  of  purely  personal  matters,  but 
they  are  the  necessary  preface  to  what  I  now  come.  You  are  aware 
of  the  letter  I  wrote  some  time  back  to  IMr.  Barrington,  and  the 
request  it  jjreferred.  If  the  reply  I  received  was  not  discouraging, 
neither  was  it  conclusive.  The  ordinary  commonplaces  as  to  the 
shortness  of  our  acquaintance,  the  want  of  sufficient  knowledge  of 
each  other's  tastes,  characters,  &c.,  were  duly  dwelt  upon;  but  I 
could  not  at  the  end  say,  was  I  an  accepted  or  a  rejected  suitor. 
Now  that  the  critical  moment  of  my  life  draws  nigh,  —  for  such  I 
feel  the  present  emergency,  —  an  act  of  confidence  in  me  would  have 
more  than  double  value.  Can  you  tell  me  that  this  is  the  sentiment 
felt  towards  me,  or  am  I  to  learn  that  the  yells  of  a  rabble  have 
drowned  the  voices  of  my  friends  ?  In  plain  words,  will  jNIiss 
Josephine  Barrington  accept  my  offer?  Will  she  intrust  her  hap- 
piness to  my  keeping,  and  change  the  darkest  shadow  that  ever 
lowered  over  my  life  into  a  gleam  of  unspeakable  brightness?  You 
have  given  me  too  many  proofs  of  a  friendly  disposition  towards  me, 
not  to  make  me  feel  that  you  are  the  best  fitted  to  bring  this  negoti- 
ation to  a  good  issue.  If  I  do  not  mistake  you  much,  you  look  with 
favor  on  my  suit  and  wish  it  success.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  how 
deeply  my  hopes  have  jeopardized  my  future  happiness,  but  I  tell 
you  frankly  life  has  no  such  prize  to  my  ambition,  nor,  in  fact,  any 
such  alternative  of  despair  before  me.' 

"Now,  my  dear  Barrington,"  continued  Withering's  letter.  "  there 
is  a  great  deal  in  this  that  I  like,  and  something  with  which  I  am  not 
so  much  pleased.  If,  however,  I  am  not  the  Major's  advocate  to  the 
extent  he  asks,  or  expects  me,  it  is  because  I  feel  that  to  be  unjustly 
dealt  with  is  a  stronger  claim  on  your  heart  than  that  of  an}^  other 
man  I  ever  met  with,  and  the  real  danger  here  would  be  that  you 
should  suffer  that  feeling  to  predominate  over  all  others.  Consult 
your  granddaughter's  interests,  if  you  can,  independently  of  this; 


84  BARRINGTON. 

reflect  well  if  the  plan  be  one  likely  to  promise  her  happiness.  Take 
your  sensible,  clear-headed  sister  into  your  counsels ;  but,  alwve  all, 
ascertain  Josephine's  own  sentiments,  and  do  nothing  in  direct  oj)- 
position  to  them." 

"  There,  Dinah,"  said  Barriugton,  placing  the  letter  in 
her  hands,  "  this  is  as  much  to  your  address  as  to  mine. 
Read  it  over  carefully,  and  you'll  find  me  in  the  garden 
when  you  have  done." 

Miss  Barriugton  laid  down  her  great  roll  of  worsted 
work,  and  began  her  task  without  a  word.  She  had  not 
proceeded  very  far,  however,  when  Josephine  entered  in 
search  of  a  book.  "  I  beg  pardon,  aunt,  if  I  derange 
you." 

"  We  say  disturb,  or  inconvenience,  in  English,  Miss  Bar- 
riugton.    What  is  it  you  are  looking  for?  " 

"  The  '  Legend  of  Montrose,'  aunt.  I  am  so  much  amused 
by  that  Major  Dalgetty  that  I  can  think  of  nothing  but 
him." 

"Umph!"  muttered  the  old  lady.  "It  was  of  a  char- 
acter not  altogether  dissimilar  I  was  thinkiug  myself 
at  that  moment.  Sit  down  here,  child,  and  let  me  talk 
to  you.     This  letter  that  I  hold  here,  Josephine,  concerns 

"Me,  aunt  —  concerns  me?  And  who  on  earth  could 
have  written  a  letter  in  which  I  am  interested  ?  " 

"  You  shall  hear  it."  She  coughed  only  once  or  twice, 
and  then  went  on  :  "It's  a  proposal  of  marriage,  —  no  less. 
That  gallant  soldier  who  left  us  so  lately  has  fallen  in  love 
with  3'ou,  —  so  he  says,  and  of  course  he  knows  best.  He 
seems  fully  aware  that,  being  older  than  you,  and  graver 
in  temperament,  his  offer  must  come  heralded  with  certain 
expressions  almost  apologetic ;  but  he  deals  with  the  matter 
skilfully,  and  tells  us  that  being  well  off  as  regards  fortune, 
of  good  blood,  and  with  fair  prospects  before  him,  he  does 
not  wish  to  regard  his  suit  as  hopeless.  Your  grandfather 
was  minded  to  learn  how  you  might  feel  disposed  to  accept 
his  addresses  by  observing  your  demeanor,  by  watching 
what  emotion  mention  of  him  might  occasion,  by  seeing  how 
far  you  felt  interested  in  his  good  or  ill  repute.  I  did  not 
agree  with  him.     I  am  never  for  the  long  road  when  there 


MAJOR  M'CORMICK'S  LETTER.  85 

is  a  short  one,  and  therefore  I  mean  to  let  you  hear  his 
letter.  This  is  what  he  writes."  "While  Miss  Dinah  read 
the  extract  which  the  reader  has  just  seen,  she  never 
noticed,  or,  if  noticed,  never  attended  to,  the  agitation  in 
her  niece's  manner,  or  seemed  to  remark  that  from  a  deep 
crimson  at  first  her  cheeks  grew  pale  as  death,  and  her  lips 
tremulous.  "  There,  child,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  as  she  finished 
—  ' '  there  are  his  own  words ;  very  ardent  words,  but  withal 
respectful.  AVhat  do  you  think  of  them,  —  of  them  and 
of  him?  " 

Josephine  hung  down  her  head,  and  with  her  hands  firmly 
clasped  together,  she  sat  for  a  few  moments  so  motionless 
that  she  seemed  scarcely  to  breathe. 

"Would  you  like  to  thiuk  over  this  before  you  speak  of 
it,  Josephine?  Would  you  like  to  take  this  letter  to  your 
room  and  ponder  over  it  alone  ? " 

No  answer  came  but  a  low,  half-subdued  sigh. 

"If  you  do  not  wish  to  make  a  confidante  of  me,  Jose- 
phine, I  am  sorry  for  it,  but  not  offended." 

"No,  no,  aunt,  it  is  not  that,"  burst  she  in;  "it  is  to 
yoii  and  you  alone,  I  wish  to  speak,  and  I  will  be  as  candid 
as  yourself.  I  am  not  surprised  at  the  contents  of  this 
letter.     I  mean,  I  was  in  a  measure  prepai-ed  for  them." 

"That  is  to  say,  child,  that  he  paid  you  certain  atten- 
tions?" 

She  nodded  assent. 

"And  how  did  you  receive  them?  Did  you  let  him  un- 
derstand that  you  were  not  indifferent  to  him,  —  that  his 
addresses  were  agreeable  to  you?" 

Another,  but  shorter,  nod  replied  to  this  question. 

"I  must  confess,"  said  the  old  lady,  bridling  up,  "all 
this  amazes  me  greatly.  Wh}',  child,  it  is  but  the  other  day 
you  met  each  other  for  the  first  time.  How,  when,  and 
where  you  found  time  for  such  relations  as  you  speak  of,  I 
cannot,  imagine.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Josephine,  that 
you  ever  talked  alone  together?" 

"Constantly,  aunt!  " 

"Constantly!" 

"  Yes,  aunt.     We  talked  a  great  deal  together." 

"  But  how,  child,  — where?" 


86  BARRINGTON. 

"Here,  aunt,  as  we  used  to  stroll  together  every  morniug 
through  the  wood  or  in  the  garden  ;  then  as  we  went  on 
the  river  or  to  the  waterfall." 

"I  can  comprehend  nothing  of  all  this,  Josephine.  I 
know  you  mean  to  deal  openly  with  me ;  so  say  at  once, 
bow  did  this  intimacy  ^begin?  " 

"  I  can  scarcely  say  how,  aunt,  because  I  believe  we 
drifted  into  it.  We  used  to  talk  a  great  deal  of  ourselves, 
and  at  length  we  grew  to  talk  of  each  other,  — of  our  likings 
and  dislikings,  our  tastes  and  our  tempers.  And  these  did 
not  always  agree  !  " 

"  Indeed!  " 

"No,  aunt,"  said  she,  with  a  heavy  sigh.  "We  quar- 
relled very  often  ;  and  once,  —  I  shall  not  easily  forget  it, 
—  once  seriously." 

"  What  was  it  about?  " 

"  It  was  about  India,  aunt ;  and  he  was  in  the  wrong,  and 
had  to  own  it  afterwards  and  ask  pardon." 

"  He  must  know  much  more  of  that  country  than  you, 
child.  How  came  it  that  you  presumed  to  set  up  your 
opinion  against  his?" 

"The  presumption  was  his,"  said  she,  haughtily.  "He 
spoke  of  his  father's  position  as  something  the  same  as  my 
father's.     He  talked  of  him  as  a  Rajah !  " 

"  I  did  not  know  that  he  spoke  of  his  father,"  said  Miss 
Dinah,  thoughtfully. 

"  Oh,  he  spoke  much  of  him.  He  told  me,  amongst  other 
things,  how  he  had  been  a  dear  friend  of  papa's ;  that  as 
young  men  they  lived  together  like  brothers,  and  never  were 
separate  till  the  fortune  of  life  divided  them." 

"  What  is  all  this  I  am  listening  to?  Of  whom  are  you 
telling  me,  Josephine  ?  " 

"  Of  Fred,  Aunt  Dinah  ;  of  Fred,  of  course." 

"  Do  you  mean  3'oung  Conyers,  child?  " 

*'Yes.     How  could  I  mean  any  other  ?  "  • 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta!  "  said  the  old  lady,  drumming  with  her  heel 
on  the  floor  and  her  fingers  on  the  table.  "  It  has  all  turned 
out  as  I  said  it  would !  Peter,  Peter,  will  you  never  be 
taught  wisdom?  Listen  to  me,  child!"  said  she,  turning 
almost   sternly   towards   Josephine.     "  We    have    been    at 


MAJOR   M'CORMICK'S  LETTER.  87 

cross-purposes  with  each  other  all  this  time.  This  letter 
which  I  have  just  read  for  you  —  "  She  stopped  suddenly 
as  she  reached  thus  far,  and  after  a  second's  pause,  said, 
"Wait  for  me  here;  I  will  be  back  presently.  I  have  a 
word  to  say  to  your  grandfather." 

Leaving  poor  Josephine  in  a  state  of  trepidation  and  be- 
wilderment, —  ashamed  at  the  confession  she  had  just  made, 
and  trembling  with  a  vague  sense  of  some  danger  that 
impended  over  her,  —  Miss  Dinah  hurried  away  to  the 
garden. 

"Here's  a  new  sort  of  worm  got  into  the  celery,  Dinah," 
said  he,  as  she  came  up,  "and  a  most  destructive  fellow 
he  is.  He  looks  like  a  mere  ruffling  of  the  leaf,  and  you  'd 
never  suspect  him." 

"It  is  your  peculiarity  never  to  suspect  anything,  brother 
Peter,  even  after  you  have  had  warning  of  peril.  Do 
you  remember  my  telling  you,  when  we  were  up  the  Rhine, 
what  would  come  of  that  intimacy  between  Conyers  and 
Josephine  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,"  said  he,  making  what  seemed  an  effort 
of  memory. 

"And  can  you  recall  the  indolent  slipshod  answer  you 
made  me  about  it?  But  of  course  you  cannot.  It  was  an 
old-maid's  apprehensions,  and  you  forgot  the  whole  thing. 
"Well,  Peter,  I  was  right  and  you  were  wrong." 

"Not  the  first  time  that  the  double  event  has  come  off 
so !  "  said  he,  smiling. 

"You  are  too  fond  of  that  cloak  of  humility,  Peter 
Barrington.  The  plea  of  Guilty  never  saved  any  one  from 
transportation !  "  "Waiting  a  moment  to  recover  her  breath 
after  this  burst  of  passion,  she  went  on  :  "  After  I  had  read 
that  letter  you  gave  me,  I  spoke  to  Josephine ;  I  told  her  in 
a  few  words  how  it  referred  to  her,  and  frankly  asked  her 
what  she  thought  of  it.  She  was  very  candid  and  very  open, 
and,  I  must  say,  also  very  collected  and  composed.  Young 
ladies  of  the  present  day  possess  that  inestimable  advantage 
over  their  predecessors.  Their  emotions  do  not  overpower 
them."  This  was  the  second  time  of  "blowing  off  the 
steam,"  and  she  had  to  wait  a  moment  to  rally.  "  She  told 
me,  frankly,  that  she  was  not  unprepared  for  such  an  offer; 


88  BARRINGTON. 

that  tender  passages  had  ah-eady  been  exchanged  between 
them.  The  usual  tomfoolery,  1  conclude,  —  that  supreme 
effort  of  selfishness  people  call  love,  —  in  a  word,  Peter,  she 
was  in  no  wise  disinclined  to  the  proposal ;  the  onl}'  misfor- 
tune was,  she  believed  it  came  from  young  Conyers." 

Barrington  would  have  laughed,  and  laughed  heartily,  if 
he  dared.  As  it  was,  the  effort  to  restrain  himself  sent  the 
blood  to  his  head,  and  made  his  eyes  run  over. 

"  You  may  well  blush,  Peter  Barrington,"  said  she,  shak- 
ing her  finger  at  him.     "It's  all  your  own  doing." 

"  And  when  you  undeceived  her,  Dinah,  what  did  she 
say?" 

"I  have  not  done  so  yet;  but  my  impression  is  that  so 
susceptible  a  young  lady  should  find  no  great  difficult}'  in 
transferring  her  affections.  For  the  present  I  mean  to  limit 
myself  to  declaring  that  this  offer  is  not  from  Conyers ;  if 
she  has  curiosity  to  know  the  writer,  she  shall  learn  it.  I 
always  had  my  doubts  about  these  convents !  Bread  and 
water  diet  makes  more  epicures  than  abstinents ! " 


CHAPTER  X. 

INTERCHANGED    CONFESSIONS. 

Miss  Barrington,  with  Josephine  at  oue  side  and  Polly  Dill 
on  the  other,  sat  at  work  in  her  little  room  that  opened  on 
the  garden.  Each  was  engaged  in  some  peculiar  task,  and 
each  seemed  bent  upon  her  labor  in  that  preoccupied  way 
which  would  imply  that  the  cares  of  needlework  make  no 
mean  call  upon  human  faculties.  A  close  observer  would, 
however,  have  remarked  that  though  Miss  Barrington  stitched 
vigorously  away  at  the  background  for  a  fierce  tiger  with 
measly  spots  over  him,  Polly, seemed  oftener  to  contemplate 
than  continue  her  handiwork  ;  while  Josephine's  looks  strayed 
constantly  from  the  delicate  tracery  she  was  following,  to  the 
garden,  where  the  roses  blended  with  the  jasmine,  and  the 
drooping  honeysuckles  hung  listlessly  over  the  boughs  of  the 
apple-tree. 

"  If  3'our  work  wearies  you,  Fifine,"  said  Miss  Dinah, 
"you  had  better  read  for  us." 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all,  aunt ;  I  like  it  immensely.  I  was 
only  wondering  why  one  should  devise  such  impossible  foli- 
age, when  we  have  the  real  thing  before  us,  in  all  its  grace 
and  beauty." 

"  Humph !  "  said  the  old  lady ;  "the  sight  of  a  real  tiger 
would  not  put  me  out  of  countenance  with  my  own." 

"It  certainly  ought  not,  ma'am,"  said  Polly;  while  she 
added,  in  a  faint  whisper,  '•'  for  there  is  assuredly  no  rivalry 
in  the  case." 

"Perhaps  Miss  Dill  is  not  too  absorbed  in  her  study  of 
nature,  as  applied  to  needlework,  to  read  out  the  news- 
paper." 

"  I  will  do  it  with  pleasure,  ma'am.  Where  shall  I 
begin?" 


90  BARRINGTON. 

"  Deaths  and  marriages  first,  of  course,  child.  Then 
fashion  and  varieties  ;  take  the  accidents  afterwards,  and 
close  with  anything  remarkable  iu  politics,  or  any  disastrous 
occurrence  in  high  life." 

Polly  obeyed  to  the  letter ;  once  only  straying  into  an 
animated  account  of  a  run  with  the  Springfield  fox-hounds, 
where  three  riders  out  of  a  large  Held  came  in  at  the  death ; 
when  Miss  Dinah  stopped  her  abruptly,  saying,  "  I  don't 
care  for  the  obituary  of  a  fox,  young  lady.  Go  on  with 
something  else." 

''  Will  you  have  the  recent  tragedy  at  Ring's  End, 
ma'am?" 

''  I  know  it  by  heart.  Is  there  nothing  new  in  the 
fashions,  —  how  are  bonnets  worn?  What's  the  latest 
sleeve?     What's  the  color  in  vogue?" 

"  A  delicate  blue,  ma'am  ;  a  little  off  the  sky,  and  on  the 
hyacinth." 

"Very  becoming  to  fair  people,"  said  Miss  Dinah,  with 
a  shake  of  her  blond  ringlets. 

"  '  The  Prince's  Hussars ! '  Would  you  like  to  hear  about 
them^  ma'am?  " 

"  By  all  means." 

"It's  a  very  short  paragraph.  'The  internal  troubles 
of  this  unhappy  regiment  would  seem  to  be  never  ending. 
We  last  week  informed  our  readers  that  a  young  subaltern 
of  the  corps,  the  son  of  one  of  our  most  distinguished 
generals,  had  thrown  up  his  commission  and  repaired  to 
the  Continent,  to  enable  him  to  demand  a  personal  satis- 
faction from  his  commanding  officer,  and  we  now  learn  that 
the  Major  in  question  is  precluded  from  accepting  the  gage 
of  battle  by  something  stronger  than  military  etiquette.'  " 

"  Read  it  again,  child;  that  vile  newspaper  slang  always 
puzzles  me." 

Polly  recited  the  passage  in  a  clear  and  distinct  voice. 

"  What  do  you  understand  by  it,  Polly?  " 

"I  take  it  to  mean  nothing,  madam.  One  of  those 
stirring  pieces  of  intelligence  which  excites  curiosity,  and 
are  no  more  expected  to  be  explained  than  a  bad  riddle." 

"  It  cannot  surely  be  that  he  shelters  himself  under  his 
position  towards  us  ?     That  I  conclude  is  hardly  possible !  " 


INTERCHANGED  CONFESSIONS.  91 

Though  Miss  Barriugton  said  this  as  a  reflection,  she 
addressed  herself  ahuost  directly  to  Josephine. 

"  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  aunt,"  answered  Josephine, 
promptly,  "  the  Major  may  fight  the  monster  of  the  Dracheu- 
fels  to-morrow,  if  he  wishes  it." 

*•  Oh,  here  is  another  mystery  apparently  on  the  same 
subject.  '  The  Lascar,  Lal-Adeen,  whom  our  readers  will 
remember  as  having  figured  in  a  police-court  a  few  days 
back,  and  was  remanded  till  the  condition  of  his  wound  — 
a  severe  sabre-cut  on  the  scalp  —  should  permit  his  further 
examination,  and  on  the  same  night  made  his  escape  from 
the  hospital,  has  once  again,  and  very  unexpectedly,  turned 
up  at  Boulogne-sur-Mer.  His  arrival  in  this  country  —  some 
say  voluntarily,  others  under  a  warrant  issued  for  his  appre- 
hension —  will  probably  take  place  to-day  or  to-morrow,  and, 
if  report  speak  truly,  be  followed  by  some  of  the  most 
singular  confessions  which  the  public  has  heard  for  a  long 
time  back.'  '  The  Post '  contradicts  the  statement,  and 
declares  '  no  such  person  has  ever  been  examined  before  the 
magistrate,  if  he  even  have  any  existence  at  all.'  " 

"•And  what  interest  has  all  this  for  us  ?"  asked  Miss 
Dinah,  sharply. 

"You  do  not  forget,  ma'am,  that  this  is  the  same  man 
Major  Stapylton  was  said  to  have  wounded ;  and  whose 
escape  scandal  hinted  he  had  connived  at,  and  who  now 
'  does  not  exist.'  " 

'•  I  declare  Miss  Dill,  I  remember  no  such  thing;  but  it 
appears  to  me  that  Major  Stapylton  occupies  a  very  consider- 
able space  in  your  own  thoughts." 

"I  fancy  Polly  likes  him,  aunt,"  said  Josephine,  with  a 
slight  smile. 

"  Well,  I  will  own  he  interests  me ;  there  is  about  him  a 
mysterious  something  that  says,  '  I  have  more  in  my  head 
and  on  my  heart  than  you  think  of,  and  more,  perhaps, 
than  you  could  carry  if  the  burden  were  yours.'  " 

"A  galley-slave  might  say  the  same.  Miss  Dill." 

"Xo  doubt  of  it,  ma'am;  and  if  there  be  men  who  mix 
in  the  great  world,  and  dine  at  grand  houses,  with  something 
of  the  galley-slave  on  their  conscience,  they  assuredly  im- 
press us  with  an  amount  of  fear  that  is  half  a  homage.     One 


92  BARRINGTON. 

dreads  them  as  he  does  a  tiger,  but  the  terror  is  mingled 
with  admiration." 

"This  is  nonsense,  young  lady,  and  baneful  nonsense, 
too,  begotten  of  French  novels  and  a  sickly  sentimentality. 
I  hope  Fifine  despises  it  as  heartily  as  I  do."  The  passion- 
ate wrath  which  she  displayed  extended  to  the  materials  of 
her  work  basket,  and  while  rolls  of  worsted  were  upset 
here,  needles  were  thrown  there;  and  at  last,  pushing  her 
embroidery-frame  rudely  away,  she  arose  and  left  the 
room. 

"Dearest  Polly,  how  could  you  be  so  indiscreet!  You 
know,  far  better  than  I  do,  how  little  patience  she  has  with 
a  paradox." 

"My  sweet  Fifine,"  said  the  other,  in  a  low  whisper,  "I 
was  dying  to  get  rid  of  her,  and  I  knew  there  was  only  one 
way  of  effecting  it.  You  may  remark  that  whenever  she 
gets  into  a  rage,  she  rushes  out  into  the  flower-garden,  and 
walks  round  and  round  till  she  's  ready  to  drop.  There  she 
is  already;  you  may  gauge  her  anger  by  the  number  of 
her  revolutions  in  a  minute." 

"But  why  did  you  wish  her  away,  Polly?" 

"I'll  tell  you  why;  that  is,  there  is  a  charming  French 
word  for  what  I  mean,  the  verb  '  agacer, '  all  untranslatable 
as  it  is.  Now  there  are  moments  when  a  person  working  in 
the  same  room  —  reading,  writing,  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow —  becomes  an  insupportable  infliction.  You  reason, 
and  say,  '  How  absurd,  how  childish,  how  ungenerous,'  and 
so  forth.  It  won't  do;  for  as  you  look  round  he  is  there 
still,  and  by  his  mere  presence  keeps  up  the  ferment  in  your 
thoughts.  You  fancy,  at  last,  that  he  stands  between  you 
and  your  inner  self,  a  witness  that  won't  let  your  own  con- 
science whisper  to  you,  and  you  come  in  the  end  to  hate  him. 
Your  dear  aunt  was  on  the  high-road  to  this  goal,  when  I 
bethought  me  of  my  expedient!  And  now  we  are  all  alone, 
dearest,  make  me  a  confession." 

"What  is  it?" 

"You  do  not  like  Major  Stapylton?" 

"No." 

"And  you  do  like  somebody  else?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  she,  slowly,  and  dividing  the  syllables 
as  she  spoke  them. 


INTERCHANGED  CONFESSIONS.  93 

"That  being  the  ease,  and  seeing,  as  you  do,  that  your 
aunt  is  entirel}^  of  your  own  mind,  at  least  as  to  the  man 
you  do  not  care  for,  why  don't  you  declare  as  much  frankly 
to  your  grandfather,  and  break  off  the  negotiation  at 
once?" 

"Just  because  that  dear  old  grandpapa  asked  me  not  to 
be  precipitate,  not  to  be  rash.  He  did  not  tell  me  that  I 
must  love  Major  Stapylton,  or  must  marry  him ;  but  he  said, 
'  If  you  only  knew,  Fifine,  what  a  change  in  our  fortune 
would  come  of  a  change  in  your  feelings;  if  you  could  but 
imagine,  child,  how  the  whole  journey  of  life  might  be 
rendered  easier,  all  because  you  took  the  right-hand  road 
instead  of  the  left;  if  you  could  guess  these  things,  and 
what  might  follow  them  — '  "     She  stopped. 

'"Well,  go  on." 

"No.  I  have  said  all  that  he  said;  he  kissed  my  cheek 
as  he  got  thus  far,  and  hurried  away  from  the  room." 

"And  you,  like  a  sweet,  obedient  child,  hastened  away  to 
yours;  wrote  a  farewell,  a  heart-broken  farewell,  to  Fred 
Conyers ;  and  solemnly  swore  to  your  own  conscience  you  'd 
marry  a  man  you  disliked.  These  are  the  sort  of  sacrifices 
the  world  has  a  high  admiration  for;  but  do  you  know, 
Fifine,  the  world  limps  a  little  in  its  morality  sometimes, 
and  is  not  one-half  the  fine  creature  it  thinks  itself.  For 
instance,  in  the  midst  of  all  its  enthusiasm  for  you,  it  has 
forgotten  that  in  accepting  for  your  husband  a  man  you  do 
not  love,  you  are  doing  a  dishonesty;  and  that,  besides 
this,  you  really  love  another.  It  is  what  the  French  call  the 
aggravating  circumstance." 

"I  mean  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind!"  broke  in  Fifine, 
boldly.     "Your  lecture  does  not  address  itself  to  we." 

"Do  not  be  angry,  Fifine,"  said  the  other,  calmly. 

"It  is  rather  too  hard  to  be  rebuked  for  the  faults  one 
might  have,  but  has  not  committed.  It 's  like  saying  how 
■wet  you  'd  have  been  had  you  fallen  into  that  pool !  " 

"Well,  it  also  means,  don't  fall  into  the  pool!  " 

"Do  you  know,  Polly,"  said  Josephine,  archly,  "I  have  a 
sort  of  suspicion  that  you  don't  dislike  this  Major  yourself! 
Am  I  right?" 

"I'd   not  say  you  were   altogether  wrong;    that   is,    he 


94  BARRtNGTOX. 

interests  me,  or,  rather,  he  puzzles  me,  and  it  piques  my 
ingenuity  to  read  him,  just  as  it  would  to  make  out  a 
cipher  to  which  I  had  only  one-half  the  key." 

"Such  a  feeling  as  that  would  never  inspire  a  tender 
interest,  at  least,  with  me." 

"Nor  did  I  say  it  was,  P^Kine.  I  have  read  in  some 
book  of  my  father's  how  certain  physicians  inoculated  them- 
selves with  plague,  the  better  to  note  the  phenomena,  and 
trace  the  course;  and  I  own  I  can  understand  their  zeal,  and 
I  'd  risk  something  to  decipher  this  man." 

"This  may  be  very  nice  in  medicine,  Poll}-,  but  very  bad 
in  morals!  At  all  events,  don't  catch  the  plague  for  the 
sake  of  saving  me?  " 

"Oh!  I  assure  you  any  step  I  take  shall  be  done  in  the 
interests  of  science  solely;  not  but  that  I  have  a  small  debt 
to  acquit  towards  the  gallant  Major." 

"You  have!     What  can  it  possibly  be?" 

"Well,  it  was  this  wise,"  said  she,  with  a  half-sigh. 
"We  met  at  a  country-house  here,  and  he  paid  me  certain 
attentions,  made  me  compliments  on  my  riding,  which  I 
knew  to  be  good,  and  my  singing,  which  was  just  tolerable; 
said  the  usual  things  which  mean  nothing,  and  a  few  of 
those  more  serious  ones  which  are  supposed  to  be  more 
significant;  and  then  he  asked  my  father's  leave  to  come 
and  visit  him,  and  actually  fixed  a  day  and  an  hour.  And 
we,  poor  people,  all  delighted  with  the  flattery  of  such  high 
notice,  and  thinking  of  the  effect  upon  our  neighbors  so 
splendid  a  visitor  would  produce,  made  the  most  magnificent 
preparations  to  receive  him,  —  papa  in  a  black  satin  waist- 
coat, mamma  in  her  lilac  ribbons.  I  myself,  — having  put 
the  roof  on  a  pigeon-pie,  and  given  the  last  finishing  touch 
to  a  pagoda  of  ruby  jelly,  — I,  in  a  charming  figured  muslin 
and  a  blush  rose  in  my  hair,  awaited  the  hour  of  attack! 
And,  after  all,  he  never  came.  No,  Fifine,  never  came! 
He  forgot  us,  or  he  changed  his  mind,  or  something  else 
turned  up  that  he  liked  better;  or  —  which  is  just  as  likely 
as  any  of  the  three  —  he  thought  it  would  be  a  charming 
piece  of  impertinence  to  pass  off  on  such  small  folk,  who 
presumed  to  fancy  themselves  company  for  him.  At  all 
events,  Fifine,  we  saw  him  no  more.  He  went  his  way 
somewhere,  and  we  were  left  lamenting." 


INTERCHANGED   CONFESSIONS.  95 

"And  you  really  liked  him,  Polly?" 

"No,  of  the  two,  I  disliked  him;  but  I  wished  very  much 
that  he  might  like  me!  I  saw  him  very  overbearing  and  very 
insolent  to  those  who  were  certainly  his  equals,  assuming  a 
most  offensive  superiority  everywhere  and  to  any  one,  and  I 
thought  what  an  awful  humiliation  it  would  be  if  so  great  a 
personage  were  to  be  snubbed  by  the  doctor's  daughter.  I 
wanted  to  give  a  lesson  which  could  only  be  severe  if  it 
came  from  one  humble  as  myself;  but  he  defeated  me, 
Fifine,  and  I  am  still  his  debtor!  If  I  did  not  like  him 
before,  you  may  believe  that  I  hate  hirh  now;  and  I  came 
off  here  this  morning,  in  hot  haste,  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  set  you  against  him,  and  induce  you  to  regard  him 
as  I  do." 

"There  was  little  need,"  said  Fifine,  calmly;  "but  here 
comes  my  aunt  back  again.  Make  your  submission  quickly, 
Polly,  or  it  will  be  too  late  to  expect  mercy." 

"I  '11  do  better,"  said  Polly,  rising.  "I  '11  let  my  trial  go 
on  in  my  absence ; "  and  with  this  she  stepped  out  of  the 
window  as  Miss  Barrington  entered  by  the  door. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

stapylton's  visit  at  "the  home." 

So  secretly  had  Barrington  managed,  that  he  negotiated  the 
loan  of  five  hundred  pounds  on  a  mortgage  of  the  cottage 
without  ever  letting  his  sister  hear  of  it;  and  when  she  heard 
on  a  particular  day  that  her  brother  expected  Mr.  Kinshela, 
the  attorney,  from  Kilkenny,  on  business,  she  made  the 
occasion  the  pretext  of  a  visit  to  Dr.  Dill,  taking  Josephine 
with  her,  to  pass  the  day  there. 

Barrington  was  therefore  free  to  receive  his  lawj'er  at  bis 
ease,  and  confer  with  him  alone.  Not  that  he  cared  much 
for  his  company;  he  felt  towards  the  attorney  pretty  much 
as  an  ardent  soldier  feels  to  a  non-combatant,  the  commis- 
sary, or  the  paymaster.  Had  he  been  a  barrister,  indeed, 
old  Peter  would  have  welcomed  him  with  the  zest  of  true 
companionship;  he  would  have  ransacked  his  memory  for 
anecdotes,  and  prepared  for  the  meeting  as  for  an  encounter 
of  sharp  wits.  Now  it  is  no  part  of  my  task  to  present  Mr. 
Kinshela  more  than  passingly  to  my  reader,  and  I  will 
merely  say  that  he  was  a  shrewd,  commonplace  man,  whose 
practice  rarely  introduced  him  to  the  higher  classes  of  his 
county,  and  who  recognized  Barrington,  even  in  his  decline, 
as  a  person  of  some  consideration. 

They  had  dined  well,  and  sat  over  their  wine  in  the  little 
dining-room  over  the  river,  a  favorite  spot  of  Barriugton's 
when  he  wished  to  be  confidential,  for  it  was  apart  from  the 
rest  of  the  cottage,  and  removed  from  all  intrusion. 

"So,  you  won't  tell  me,  Kinshela,  who  lent  us  this 
money?  "  said  the  old  man,  as  he  passed  the  decanter  across 
the  table. 

"It  is  not  that  I  won't,  sir,  but  I  can't.  It  was  in  answer 
to  an  advertisement  I  inserted  in  the  '  Times,'  that  I  got  an 
application  from  Granger  and  "Wood  to  supply  particulars; 


STAPYLTON'S  VISIT  AT   "THE   HOME."  97 

and  I  must  say  there  was  no  unnecessary  security  on  their 
part.  It  was  as  speedily  settled  a  transaction  as  I  ever 
conducted,  and  I  believe  in  my  heart  we  might  have  had  a 
thousand  pounds  on  it  just  as  easily  as  five  hundred." 

"As  well  as  it  is,  Kinshela.  When  the  day  of  repayment 
comes  round,  I'll  perhaps  find  it  heavy  enough; "  and  he 
sighed  deeply  as  he  spoke. 

"Who  knows,  sir?  There  never  was  a  time  that  capital 
expended  on  land  was  more  remunerative  than  the  present." 

Now,  Mr.  Kinshela  well  knew  that  the  destination  of  the 
money  they  spoke  of  was  not  in  this  direction,  and  that  it 
had  as  little  to  say  to  subsoil  drainage  or  top  dressing  as 
to  the  conversion  of  the  heathen;  but  he  was  angling  for 
a  confidence,  and  he  did  not  see  how  to  attain  it. 

Barrington  smiled  before  he  answered, —  one  of  those  sad, 
melancholy  smiles  which  reveal  a  sorrow  a  man  is  not  able 
to  suppress, —  and  then  he  said,  "  I  'm  afraid,  Kinshela,  I  '11 
not  test  the  problem  this  time." 

"It  will  be  better  employed,  perhaps,  sir.  You  mean, 
probably,  to  take  your  granddaughter  up  to  the  drawing- 
room  at  the  Castle?" 

"I  never  so  much  as  thought  of  it,  Joe  Kinshela;  the  fact 
is,  that  money  is  going  where  I  have  sent  many  a  hundred 
before  it,  —  in  law !  I  have  had  a  long,  wearisome,  costly 
suit,  that  has  well-nigh  beggared  me;  and  of  that  sum  you 
raised  for  me  I  don't  expect  to  have  a  shilling  by  this  day 
week." 

"I  heard  something  about  that,  sir,"  said  the  other, 
cautiously. 

"And  what  was  it  you  heard?" 

"Nothing,  of  course,  worth  repeating;  nothing  from  any 
one  that  knew  the  matter  himself;  just  the  gossip  that  goes 
about,  and  no  more." 

"Well,  let  us  hear  the  gossip  that  goes  about,  and  I'll 
promise  to  tell  you  if  it 's  true." 

"Well,  indeed,"  said  Kinshela,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"they  say  that  your  claim  is  against  the  India  Board." 

Barrington  nodded. 

"And  that  it  is  a  matter. little  short  of  a  million  is  in 
dispute." 

VOL.   II.  —  7 


98  BARRINGTON. 

He  nodded  again  twice. 

''And  they  say,  too, — of  course,  on  very  insufficient 
knowledge,  —  that  if  you  would  have  abated  your  demands 
once  on  a  time,  you  might  readily  have  got  a  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds,  or  even  more." 

"That's  not  impossible,"  muttered  Barringtou. 

"But  that,  no\v  —  "he  stammered  for  an  instant,  and 
then  stopped. 

"But  now?     Goon." 

"Sure,  sir,  they  can  know  nothing  about  it;  it's  just  idle 
talk,  and  no  more." 

"Go  on,  and  tell  me  what  they  say  now,"  said  Barriugton, 
with  a  strong  force  on  the  last  word. 

"They  say  you  '11  be  beaten,  sir,"  said  he,  with  an  effort. 

"And  do  they  say  why,  Kinshela?" 

"Yes,  sir;  they  su}'  you  won't  take  advice;  and  no  matter 
what  Mr.  Withering  counsels,  or  is  settled  in  consultation, 
you  go  your  own  way  and  won't  mind  them;  and  that  you 
have  been  heard  to  declare  you  '11  have  all,  or  nothing." 

"  They  give  me  more  credit  than  I  deserve,  Kinshela.  It 
is,  perhaps,  what  I  ought  to  have  said,  for  I  have  often 
thought  it.  But  in  return  for  all  the  kind  interest  my  neigh- 
bors take  about  me,  let  them  know  that  matters  look  better 
for  us  than  they  once  did.  Perhaps,"  added  he,  with  a 
laugh, —  "  perhaps  I  have  overcome  my  obstinacy,  or  perhaps 
my  opponents  have  yielded  to  it.  At  all  events,  Joe,  I  be- 
lieve I  see  land  at  last,  and  it  was  a  long  '  lookout '  and 
many  a  fog-bank  I  mistook  for  it." 

"And  what  makes  you  think  now  you  '11  win?"  said  the 
other,  growing  bolder  by  the  confidence  reposed  in  him. 

Barrington  half  started  at  the  presumption  of  the  ques- 
tion; but  he  suddenly  remembered  how  it  was  he  himself 
who  had  invited  the  discussion,  so  he  said  calmly,  — 

"My  hope  is  not  without  a  foundation.  I  expect  by  the 
mail  to-night  a  friend  who  may  be  able  to  tell  me  that  I 
have  won,  or  as  good  as  won." 

Kinshela  was  dying  to  ask  who  the  friend  was,  but  even 
his  curiosity  had  its  prudenti.al  limits;  so  he  merely  took 
out  his  watch,  and,  looking  at  it,  remarked  that  the  mail 
would  pass  in  about  twenty  minutes  or  so. 


STAPYLTON'S   VISIT  AT  "THE   HOME."  99 

"By  the  wa}',  I  must  n't  forget  to  send  a  servant  to  wait  on 
tte  roadside;"  and  he  rang  the  bell  and  said,  "Let  Darby 
go  up  to  the  road  and  take  Major  Stapyltou's  luggage  when 
he  arrives." 

"Is  that  the  Major  Stapylton  is  going  to  be  broke  for  the 
doings  at  Manchester,  sir?"  asked  Kinshela. 

"He  is  the  same  Major  Stapylton  that  a  rascally  press  is 
now  libelling  and  calumniating,"  said  Barrington,  hotly. 
"As  to  being  broke,  I  don't  believe  that  we  have  come  yet 
to  that  pass  in  England  that  the  discipline  of  our  army  is 
administered  by  every  scribbler  in  a  newspaper." 

"I  humbly  crave  your  pardon,  sir,  if  I  have  said  the 
slightest  thing  to  offend;  but  I  only  meant  to  ask,  was  he 
the  officer  they  were  making  such  a  fuss  about?" 

"He  is  an  officer  of  the  highest  distinction,  and  a  well- 
born gentleman  to  boot, — two  admirable  reasons  for  the 
assaults  of  a  contemptible  party.  Look  you,  Kinshela;  you 
and  I  are  neither  of  us  very  young  or  inexperienced  men, 
but  I  would  ask  you,  have  we  learned  an}-  wiser  lesson 
from  our  intercourse  with  life  than  to  withhold  our  judg- 
ment on  the  case  of  one  who  rejects  the  sentence  of  a  mob, 
and  appeals  to  the  verdict  of  his  equals?  " 

"  But  if  he  cut  the  people  down  in  cold  blood,  —  if  it  be 
true  that  he  laid  open  that  poor  black  fellow's  cheek  from 
the  temple  to  the  chin  —  " 

"If  he  did  no  such  thing,"  broke  in  Barrington;  "that  is 
to  say,  if  there  is  no  evidence  whatever  that  he  did  so, 
what  will  your  legal  mind  say  then,  .Joe  Kinshela?" 

"Just  this,  sir.  I'd  say  —  what  all  the  newspapers  are 
saying  —  that  he  got  the  man  out  of  the  way,  —  bribed  and 
sent  him  off." 

""Why  not  hint  that  he  murdered  him,  and  buried  him 
within  the  precincts  of  the  jail?  I  declare  I  wonder  at 
your  moderation." 

"I  am  sure,  sir,  that  if  I  suspected  he  was  an  old  friend 
of  yours  —  " 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  — a  friend  of  very  short  standing; 
but  what  has  that  to  say  to  it?  Is  he  less  entitled  to  fair 
play  whether  he  knew  me  or  not?  " 

"All  I  know  of  the  case  is  from  the  newspapers;  and  as 


100  BARRINGTON. 

I  scarcely  see  one  word  iu  his  favor,  I  take  it  there  is  not 
much  to  be  said  iu  his  defence." 

*'Well,  if  my  ears  don't  deceive  me,  that  was  the  guard's 
horn  I  heard  then.  The  man  himself  will  be  here  in  five 
minutes  or  so.  Yon  shall  contluct  the  prosecution,  Kin- 
shela,  and  I  '11  be  judge  between  you." 

"Heaven  forbid,  sir;  on  no  account  whatever!"  said 
Kinshela,  trembling  all  over.  "I'm  sure,  Mr.  Barrington, 
you  could  n't  think  of  repeating  Avhat  I  said  to  you  in 
confidence  —  " 

"No,  no,  Kinshela.  You  shall  do  it  yourself;  and  it's 
only  fair  to  tell  you  that  he  is  a  right  clever  fellow,  and 
fully  equal  to  the  task  of  defending  himself."  Peter  arose 
as  he  spoke,  and  walked  out  upon  the  lawn,  affectedly  to 
meet  his  coming  guest,  but  in  reality  to  cover  a  laugh 
that  was  half  smothering  him,  so  comical  was  the  misery 
expressed  in  the  attorney's  face,  and  so  ludicrous  was  his 
look  of  terror. 

Of  course  I  need  not  say  that  it  never  occurred  to  Bar- 
rington to  realize  his  threat,  which  he  merely  uttered  in  the 
spirit  of  that  quizzing  habit  that  was  familiar  to  him. 
"Yes,  Kinshela,"  cried  he,  "here  he  comes.  I  recognize 
his  voice  already;  "  and  Barrington  now  walked  forward  to 
welcome  his  friend. 

It  was  not  till  after  some  minutes  of  conversation,  and 
when  the  light  fell  strongly  on  Stapylton's  features,  that 
Barrington  saw  how  changed  a  few  weeks  of  care  had  made 
him.  He  looked  at  the  least  ten  years  older  than  before. 
His  eyes  had  lost  their  bold  and  daring  expression,  too, 
and  were  deep  sunk,  and  almost  furtive  in  their  glance. 

"You  are  tired,  I  fear,"  said  Barrington,  as  the  other 
moved  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  and,  with  a  slight  sigh, 
sank  down  upon  a  sofa. 

"Less  tired  than  worried, — harassed,"  said  he,  faintly. 
"Just  as  at  a  gaming-table  a  man  may  lose  more  in  half 
an  hour's  high  play  than  years  of  hard  labor  could  acquire, 
there  are  times  of  life  when  we  dissipate  more  strength  and 
vigor  than  we  ever  regain.  T  have  had  rough  usage  since 
I  saw  you  last,"  said  he^  with  a  very  sickly  smile.  "How 
are  the  ladies,  — well,  I  hope?" 


STAPYLTON'S  VISIT  AT  "THE   HOME."  101 

"Perfectly  well.  They  have  gone  to  pass  the  day  with  a 
neighbor,  and  will  be  home  presently.  By  the  way,  I  left  a 
friend  here  a  few  moments  ago.  What  can  have  become  of 
him?"  and  he  rang  the  bell  hastily.  "Where's  Mr.  Kin- 
shela,  Darby?" 

"Gone  to  bed,  sir.  He  said  he  'd  a  murthering  headache, 
and  hoped  your  honor  would  excuse  him." 

Though  Barringtou  laughed  heartily  at  this  message, 
Stapylton  never  asked  the  reason,  but  sat  immersed  in 
thought  and  unmindful  of  all  around  him. 

"I  half  suspect  you  ought  to  follow  his  good  example, 
Major,"  said  Peter.  "A  mug  of  mulled  claret  for  a  night- 
cap, and  a  good  sleep,  will  set  you  all  right." 

"It  will  take  more  than  that  to  do  it,"  said  the  Major, 
sadly.  Then  suddenly  rising,  and  pacing  the  room  with 
quick,  impatient  steps,  he  said,  "What  could  have  induced 
you  to  let  them  bring  your  claim  before  the  House?  They 
are  going  to  do  so,  ain't  they?  " 

"Yes.  Tom  Withering  says  that  nothing  will  be  so 
effectual,  and  I  thought  you  agreed  with  him." 

"Never.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  said,  threaten  it; 
insist  that  if  they  continue  the  opposition,  that  you  will,  — 
that  you  must  do  so;  but  I  never  was  the  fool  to  imagine 
that  it  could  really  be  a  wise  step.  What 's  the  fate  of  all 
such  motions?  Task  you.  There's  a  speech  —  sometimes 
an  able  one  —  setting  forth  a  long  catalogue  of  unmerited 
injuries  and  long  suffering.  There  's  a  claim  made  out  that 
none  can  find  a  flaw  in,  and  a  story  that,  if  Parliament 
was  given  to  softness,  might  move  men  almost  to  tears,  and 
at  the  end  of  it  up  rises  a  Minister  to  say  how  deeply  he 
sympathizes  with  the  calamity  of  the  case,  but  that  this 
house  is,  after  all,  not  the  fitting  locality  for  a  discussion 
which  is  essentially  a  question  of  law,  and  that,  even  if  it 
were,  and  if  all  the  allegations  were  established,  —  a  point 
to  which  he  by  no  means  gave  adhesion,  — there  was  really 
no  available  fund  at  the  disposal  of  the  Crown  to  make 
reparation  for  such  losses.  Have  you  not  seen  this,  or  some- 
thing like  this,  scores  of  limes?  Can  you  tell  me  of  one 
that  succeeded  ? " 

"A  case  of  such  wrong  as  this  cannot  go  without  repara- 


102  BARRINGTON. 

tion,"  said  Peter,  with  emotion.  "The  whole  country  will 
demand  it." 

"The  countr}'  will  do  no  such  thing.  If  it  were  a  ques- 
tion of  penally  or  punishment, — j-esl  the  country  would 
demand  it.  Fine,  imprison,  transport,  hang  him!  are 
easy  words  to  utter,  and  cheap  ones ;  but  pay  him,  reinstate 
him,  reward  him !  have  a  very  different  sound  and  signifi- 
cance. They  figure  in  the  budget,  and  are  formidable  on 
the  hustings.  Depend  on  it,  iNIi-.  Barringtou,  the  step  will 
be  a  false  one." 

"It  has  been  my  fate  never  to  have  got  the  same  advice 
for  two  weeks  together  since  the  day  I  entered  on  this  weary 
suit,"  said  Barrington,  with  a  peevishness  not  natural  to 
him. 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you  the  whole  truth  at  once,"  said 
Stapylton.  "The  Board  have  gone  back  of  all  their  good 
intentions  towards  us;  some  recent  arrivals  from  India,  it 
is  said,  have  kindled  again  the  old  fire  of  opposition,  and 
we  are  to  be  met  by  a  resistance  bold  and  uncompromising. 
They  are  prepared  to  deny  everything  we  assert;  in  fact, 
they  have  resolved  to  sweep  all  the  pieces  off  the  board  and 
begin  the  whole  game  again,  and  all  because  you  have 
taken  this  unfortunate  course  of  appeal  to  Parliament." 

"Have  you  told  Withering  this?" 

"Yes;  I  have  talked  the  matter  over  for  nearly  four  hours 
with  him.  Like  a  lawyer,  he  was  most  eager  to  know  from 
what  source  came  the  new  evidence  so  damaging  to  us. 
I  could  only  guess  at  this." 

"  And  your  guess  was  —  " 

"I  scarcely  like  to  own  to  you  that  I  take  a  less  favorable 
view  of  mankind  than  you  do,  who  know  it  better;  but  in 
this  case  my  suspicion  attaches  to  a  man  who  was  once  your 
son's  dearest  friend,  but  grew  to  be  afterwards  his  dead- 
liest enemy." 

"I  will  not  have  this  said,  Major  Stapylton.  I  know 
whom  you  mean,  and  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

Stapylton  simply  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  continued 
to  pace  the  room  without  speaking,  while  Barrington  went 
on  muttering,  half  aloud:  "No,  no,  impossible;  quite  im- 
possible. These  things  are  not  in  nature.  I  don't  credit 
them." 


STAPYLTON'S   VISIT   AT   "THE   HOME."  103 

"You  like  to  thiuk  very  well  of  the  world,  sir!"  said 
the  Major,  with  a  faiut  scorn,  so  faint  as  scarcely  to  color 
his  words. 

"Think  very  badly  of  it,  and  you'll  soon  come  down  to 
the  level  you  assign  it,"  said  Peter,  boldly. 

"I  'm  afraid  I  'm  not  in  the  humor  just  now  to  give  it  my 
best  suffrages.  You  've  seen,  I  doubt  not,  something  of  the 
treatment  I  have  met  with  from  the  Press  for  the  last  few 
weeks ;  not  very  generous  usage,  —  not  very  just.  Well ! 
what  will  you  say  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  been  refused 
an  inquiry  into  my  conduct  at  Manchester;  that  the  Govern- 
ment is  of  opinion  that  such  an  investigation  might  at  the 
moment  be  prejudicial  to  the  public  peace,  without  any 
counterbalancing  advantage  on  the  score  of  a  personal  vin- 
dication; that  they  do  not  deem  the  time  favorable  for  the 
calm  and  unbiassed  judgment  of  the  country;  in  one  short 
word,  sir,  they'd  rather  ruin  a  Major  of  Hussars  than  risk 
a  Cabinet.  I  am  to  exchange  into  any  corps  or  any  service 
I  can ;  and  they  are  to  tide  over  these  troubles  on  the  assump- 
tion of  having  degraded  me." 

"I  hope  you  wrong  them,  — I  do  hope  you  wrong  them!  " 
cried  Barrington,  passionately. 

"You  shall  see  if  I  do,"  said  he,  taking  several  letters 
from  his  pocket,  and  searching  for  one  in  particular.  "Yes, 
here  it  is.  This  is  from  Aldridge,  the  private  secretary  of 
the  Commander-in-chief.  It  is  very  brief,  and  strictly 
secret: — 

"  'Deak  S.,  — The  "  Chief  does  not  like  your  scrape  at  all.  You 
did  rather  too  much,  or  too  little,  —  a  fatal  mistake  dealing  with  a 
mob.  You  must  consent  —  there  's  no  help  for  it  —  to  be  badly 
used,  and  an  injured  man.  If  you  don't  like  the  half-pay  list,  — 
which  would,  in  my  mind,  be  the  best  step,  —  there  's  the  Seven- 
teenth ordered  to  Baroda,  and  iSIaidstone  refuses  to  go.  This,  or  the 
Second  West  India,  are  the  only  things  open.  Above  all,  don't 
show  fight ;  don't  rally  a  party  round  you,  for  there  is  not  a  man  in 
England  whose  influence  is  sufficiently  great  to  stand  between  j'ou 
and  the  public.  A  couple  of  years'  patience  and  a  hot  climate  will 
set  all  right,  and  reinstate  you  everywhere.  Come  over  here  at 
once  and  I  '11  do  my  best  for  you. 

"  '  Yours  ever, 

" '  St.  George  Aldridge.' 


104  BARRINGTON. 

"This  is  a  friend's  letter,"  said  Stapylton,  with  a  sneer; 
*'  and  he  has  no  better  counsel  to  give  me  thau  to  plead 
guilty,  and  ask  for  a  mitigated  punishment." 

Barrington  was  silenced ;  he  would  not  by  any  expression 
of  indignation  add  to  the  great  anger  of  the  other,  and  he 
said  nothing.  At  last  he  said,  "  I  wish  from  my  heart  —  I 
wish  I  could  be  of  any  service  to  you." 

"  You  are  the  only  man  living  who  can,"  was  the  prompt 
answer. 

"  How  so  —  in  what  way?     Let  me  hear." 

"When  I  addressed  a  certain  letter  to  you  some  time 
back,  I  was  in  a  position  both  of  fortune  and  prospect  to 
take  at  least  something  from  the  presumption  of  my  offer. 
Now,  though  my  fortune  remains,  my  future  is  more  than 
clouded,  and  if  I  ask  you  to  look  favorably  on  my  cause 
now,  it  is  to  your  generosity  I  must  appeal ;  I  am,  in  fact, 
asking  you  to  stand  by  a  fallen  man." 

This  speech,  uttered  in  a  voice  slightly  shaken  by  agita- 
tion, went  to  Barrington's  heart.  There  was  not  a  sentiment 
in  his  nature  so  certain  to  respond  to  a  call  upon  it  as  this 
one  of  sympathy  with  the  beaten  man  ;  the  weaker  side  was 
always  certain  of  his  adherence.  With  a  nice  tact  Stapylton 
said  no  more,  but,  pushing  open  the  window,  walked  out 
upon  the  smooth  sward,  on  which  a  faint  moonlight  flickered. 
He  had  shot  his  bolt,  and  saw  it  as  it  quivered  in  his  victim's 
flesh.  Barrington  was  after  him  in  an  instant,  and,  drawing 
an  arm  within  his.  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  You  may  count 
upon  me." 

Stapylton  wrung  his  hand  warmly,  without  speaking. 
After  walking  for  a  few  moments,  side  by  side,  he  said :  "  I 
must  be  frank  with  you,  Mr.  Barrington.  I  have  little  time 
and  no  taste  for  circumlocution  ;  I  cannot  conceal  from  my- 
self that  I  am  no  favorite  with  your  sister.  I  was  not  as 
eager  as  I  ought  to  have  been  to  cultivate  her  good  opinion ; 
I  was  a  little  piqued  at  what  I  thought  mere  injustices  on  her 
part, — small  ones,  to  be  sure,  but  they  wounded  me,  and 
with  a  temper  that  always  revolted  against  a  wrong,  I 
resented  them,  and  I  fear  me,  in  doing  so,  I  jeopardized  her 
esteem.  If  she  is  as  generous  as  her  brother,  she  will  not 
remember  these  to  me  in  my  day  of  defeat.     Women,  how- 


STAPYLTON'S  VISIT  AT  "THE   HOME."  105 

ever,  have  their  own  ideas  of  mercy,  as  they  have  of  every- 
thing, and  she  may  not  choose  to  regard  me  as  you  have 
done." 

"  I  suspect  you  are  wrong  about  this,"  said  Barrington, 
breaking  in. 

"  Well,  I  wish  I  may  be;  at  all  events,  I  must  put  the 
feeling  to  the  test  at  once,  for  I  have  formed  my  plan,  and 
mean  to  begin  it  immediately." 

"  And  what  is  it?  " 

"Very  few  words  will  tell  it.  I  intend  to  go  on  half-pay, 
or  sell  out  if  that  be  refused  me ;  set  out  for  India  by  the 
next  mail,  and,  with  what  energy  remains  to  me,  vindicate 
your  son's  claim.  I  have  qualifications  that  will  make  me 
better  than  a  better  man.  I  am  well  versed  in  Hindostanee, 
and  a  fair  Persian  scholar ;  I  have  a  wide  acquaintance  with 
natives  of  every  rank,  and  I  know  how  and  where  to  look 
for  information.  It  is  not  my  disposition  to  feel  over-san- 
guine, but  I  would  stake  all  I  possess  on  my  success,  for  I 
see  exactly  the  flaws  in  the  chain,  and  I  know  where  to  go  to 
repair  them.  You  have  witnessed  with  what  ardor  I  adopted 
the  suit  before ;  but  you  cannot  estimate  the  zeal  with  which 
I  throw  myself  into  it  now  —  now  that,  like  George  Barring- 
ton  himself,  I  am  a  man  wronged,  outraged,  and  insulted." 
For  a  few  seconds  he  seemed  overcome  by  passion  and 
unable  to  continue;  then  he  went  on:  "If  your  grand- 
daughter will  accept  me,  it  is  my  intention  to  settle  on  her 
all  1  possess.  Our  marriage  can  be  private,  and  she  shall  be 
free  to  accompany  me  or  to  remain  here,  as  she  likes." 

"  But  how  can  all  this  be  done  so  hurriedly?  You  talk  of 
starting  at  once." 

"I  must,  if  I  would  save  your  son's  cause.  The  India 
Board  are  sending  out  their  emissaries  to  Calcutta,  and  I 
must  anticipate  them — if  I  cannot  do  more,  by  gaining 
them  over  to  us  on  the  voyage  out.  It  is  a  case  for  energy 
and  activity,  and  I  want  to  employ  both." 

"  The  time  is  very  short  for  all  this,"  said  Barrington, 
again. 

"So  it  is,  sir,  and  so  are  the  few  seconds  which  may 
rescue  a  man  from  drowning]  It  is  in  the  crisis  of  my  fate 
that  I  ask  you  to  stand  by  me." 


106  BARRINGTON. 

"  But  have  you  any  reason  to  believe  that  my  grand- 
daughter will  hear  you  favorably?  You  are  almost  strangers 
to  each  other  ?  " 

"  If  she  will  not  give  me  the  legal  right  to  make  her 
my  heir,  I  mean  to  usurp  the  privilege.  I  have  already 
been  with  a  lawyer  for  that  purpose.  My  dear  sir,"  added 
he,  passionately,  ' '  I  want  to  break  with  the  past  forever ! 
When  the  world  sets  up  its  howl  against  a  man,  the  odds 
are  too  great!  To  stand  and  defy  it  he  must  succumb  or 
retreat.  Now,  I  mean  to  retire,  but  with  the  honors  of 
war,  mark  you." 

"  My  sister  will  never  consent  to  it,"  muttered  Barrington. 

"  Will  you?     Have  I  the  assurance  of  tjoxir  support? " 

"  I  can  scarcely  venture  to  say  '  yes,'  and  j'et  I  can't 
bear  to  say  '  no '  to  you  !  " 

"  This  is  less  than  I  looked  for  from  you,"  said  Stapylton, 
mournfully. 

"  I  know  Dinah  so  well.  I  know  how  hopeless  it  would 
be  to  ask  her  concurrence  to  this  plan." 

"  She  may  not  take  the  generous  view  of  it;  but  there 
is  a  worldly  one  worth  considering,"  said  Stapylton,  bitterly. 

"  Then,  sir,  if  you  count  on  tliat^  I  would  not  give  a 
copper  half-penny  for  your  chance  of  success  !  "  cried  Bar- 
rington, passionately. 

"You  have  quite  misconceived  me;  you  have  wronged 
me  altogether,"  broke  in  Stapylton,  in  a  tone  of  apology; 
for  he  saw  the  mistake  he  had  made,  and  hastened  to  repair 
it.     "  My  meaning  was  this —  " 

"So  much  the  better.  I'm  glad  I  misunderstood  you. 
But  here  come  the  ladies.     Let  us  go  and  meet  them." 

"  One  word,  —  only  one  word.     Will  you  befriend  me  ?  " 

"I  will  do  all  that  I  can,  —  that  is,  all  that  I  ought," 
said  Barrington,  as  he  led  him  away,  and  re-entered  the 
cottage. 

"  I  will  not  meet  them  to-night,"  said  Stapylton,  hurriedly. 
"  I  am  nervous  and  agitated.  I  will  say  good-night 
now." 

This  was  the  second  time  within  a  few  days  that  Stapylton 
had  shown  an  unwillingness  to  confront  Miss  Barrington, 
and  Peter  thought  over  it  long  and  anxiously.     "  What  can 


STAPYLTON'S  VISIT  AT  "THE  HOME."  107 

he  meau  by  it?"  said  he,  to  himself.  "  Why  should  he  be 
so  frauk  and  outspoken  with  me,  and  so  reserved  with  her? 
What  can  Dinah  know  of  him?  What  can  she  suspect,  that 
is  not  known  to  me?  It  is  true  they  never  did  like  each 
other,  —  never  '  hit  it  off '  together ;  but  that  is  scarcely  his 
fault.  My  excellent  sister  throws  away  little  love  on 
strangers,  and  opens  every  fresh  acquaintance  with  a  very 
fortifying  prejudice  against  the  newly  presented.  However 
it  happens,"  muttered  he,  with  a  sigh,  "  sAe  is  not  often 
wrong,  and  /  am  very  seldom  right ;  "  and,  with  this  reflec- 
tion, he  tui'ned  once  again  to  resume  his  walk  in  the 
garden. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A   DOCTOR   AND    UIS    PATIENT. 

Stapyltox  did  uot  make  bis  appearance  at  breakfast ;  be 
seut  down  a  message  tbat  be  bad  passed  a  feverisb  nigbt, 
and  begged  tbat  Dr.  Dill  migbt  be  sent  for.  Tbongb  Bar- 
rington  made  two  attempts  to  see  bis  guest,  tbe  quietness  of 
tbe  room  on  eacb  occasion  implied  tbat  be  was  asleep,  and, 
fearing  to  disturb  bim,  be  went  downstairs  again  on  tiptoe. 

"  This  is  wbat  tbe  persecution  bas  done,  Dinab,"  said  be. 
"  Tbey  bave  brougbt  that  stout-hearted  fellow  so  low  tbat 
be  may  be  tbe  victim  of  a  fever  to-morrow." 

"Nonsense,  Peter.  Men  of  courage  don't  fall  sick  be- 
cause tbe  newspapers  calumniate  them.  Tbey  bave  other 
things  on  their  minds  than  such  puny  attacks." 

"So  be  may,  likely  enough,  too.  He  is  bent  heart  and 
soul  on  wbat  I  told  you  last  nigbt,  and  I  'm  not  surprised  if 
he  never  closed  bis  e3'es  thinking  of  it." 

"  Neither  did  I !  "  said  she,  curtly,  and  left  the  room. 

The  doctor  was  not  long  in  arriving,  and,  after  a  word  or 
two  with  Barrington,  hastened  to  tbe  patient's  room. 

"Are  we  alone?"  asked  Stapylton.  cutting  short  the 
bland  speech  with  which  Dill  was  making  his  approaches. 
"  Draw  that  curtain  a  bit,  and  take  a  good  look  at  me. 
Are  my  eyes  bloodshot?  Are  tbe  pupils  dilated?  I  bad  a 
bad  sunstroke  once ;  see  if  there  be  any  signs  of  congestion 
about  me." 

"No,  I  see  none.  A  little  flushed;  your  pulse,  too,  is 
accelerated,  and  tbe  heart's  action  is  labored  —  " 

"Never  mind  the  heart;  if  the  head  be  well,  it  will  take 
care  of  it.  Reach  me  tbat  pocket-book  ;  I  want  to  acquit 
one  debt  to  you  before  I  incur  another.  No  humbug  be- 
tween us ;  "  and  be  pressed  some  notes  into  tbe  other's  palm 


A  DOCTOR  AND   HIS   PATIENT. 


109 


as  he  spoke.     "  Let  us  understand  each  other  fully,  and  at 
once.     "  I  'm  not  very  ill ;   but  I  want  you." 

"And  I  am  at  your  orders." 

"Faithfully, —loyally?" 

"  Faithfully,  —  loyally !  "  repeated  the  other  after  him. 


•'You've  read  the  papers  lately,  —  you 've  seen  these 
attacks  on  me? " 

"Yes." 

"Well,  what  do  they  say  and  think  here  —  I  mean  m 
this  house  — about  them?  How  do  they  discuss  them? 
Remember,  I  want  candor  and  frankness;  no  humbug. 
I'll  not  stand  humbug." 

"  The  women  are  against  you." 


110  BAKKLNGTON. 

"Both  of  them?" 

''  Both." 

"  How  comes  that?  —  on  what  grounds?  " 

'"The  papers  accused  you  of  cruelty;  they  affirmed  that 
there  was  no  cause  for  the  measures  of  severity  you  adopted  ; 
and  they  argued  —  " 

''  Don't  bore  me  with  all  that  balderdash.  I  asked  you 
how  was  it  that  these  women  assumed  I  was  in  the  wrong?  " 

"  And  I  was  about  to  tell  you,  if  you  had  not  interrupted 
me." 

"That  is,  they  believed  what  they  read  in  the  news- 
l^apers  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And,  of  course,  swallowed  that  fine  story  about  the 
Hindoo  fellow  that  I  first  cut  down,  and  afterwards  bribed 
to  make  his  escape  from  the  hospital  ?  " 

"  I  suspect  they  half  believed  it." 

"Or  rather,  believed  half  of  it,  the  cutting  down  part! 
Can  you  tell  me  physiologically,  —  for  I  think  it  comes  into 
that  category,  —  why  it  is  that  women  not  otherwise  ill- 
natured,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  take  the  worst  alternative 
as  the  credible  one?  But  never  mind  that.  They  condemn 
me.     Is  n't  it  so  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  while  old  Barrington  insists  —  " 

"  Who  cares  what  he  insists?  Such  advocacy  as  his  only 
provokes  attack,  and  invites  persecution.  I  'd  rather  have 
no  such  allies !  " 

"I  believe  you  are  right." 

"I  want  fellows  like  yourself,  doctor,  —  sly,  cautious, 
subtle  fellows,  —  accustomed  to  stealing  strong  medicines 
into  the  system  in  small  doses ;  putting  the  patient,  as  you 
call  it  in  your  slang,  '  under  the  influence '  of  this,  that,  and 
t'  other,  — eh?  " 

Dill  smiled  blandly  at  the  compliment  to  his  art,  and 
Stapylton  went  on :  — 

"Not  that  I  have  time  just  now  for  this  sort  of  chronic 
treatment.  I  need  a  heroic  remedy,  doctor.  I  'm  in 
love." 

"Indeed!"  said  Dill,  with  an  accent  nicely  balanced  be- 
tween interest  and  incredulity. 


A   DOCTOR   AND   HIS  PATIENT.  Ill 

"Yes,  and  I  want  to  marry! 

"Miss  Barriugtou?" 

"The  granddaughter.  There  is  no  need,  I  hope,  to  make 
the  distinction,  for  I  don't  wish  to  be  thought  insane.  Now 
you  have  the  case.     "What 's  youi-  prescription?  " 

"Propose  for  her!  " 

"So  I  have,  but  they  hesitate.  The  old  man  is  not  un- 
favorable; he  is,  perhaps,  more:  he  is,  in  a  measure, 
friendly;  but  what  avails  such  advocacy?  I  want  another 
guess  sort  of  aid,  —  a  clever  man ;  or,  what  is  better  still,  a 
clever  woman,  to  befriend  me." 

He  waited  some  seconds  for  a  reply,  but  Dill  did  not 
speak;  so  he  went  on:  "A  clever  woman,  to  take  a  woman's 
view  of  the  case,  balancing  this  against  that,  never  ignoring 
an  obstacle,  but  inquiring  what  there  may  be  to  compensate 
for  it.     Do  you  know  such  a  one,  doctor  ?  " 

"Perhaps  I  may;  but  I  have  my  doubts  about  securing 
her  services." 

"Even  with  a  retainer?  " 

"Even  with  a  retainer.  You  see.  Major,"  —  here  Dill 
dropped  his  voice  to  a  most  confidential  whisper, — "my 
daughter  Polly,  —  for  I  know  we  both  have  her  in  mind,  — 
Polly  is  a  strange  sort  of  girl,  and  very  hard  to  understand ; 
for  while,  if  the  case  were  her  own,  she  'd  no  more  think  of 
romance  than  she  would  of  giving  ten  guineas  for  a  dress, 
if  she  was  advising  another  whose  position  and  prospects 
were  higher  than  hers,  it's  the  romantic  part  of  it  she'd 
lay  all  the  stress  on." 

"From  which  I  gather  that  my  suit  will  not  stand  this 
test!"  said  Stapylton,  with  a  peculiar  smile.  "Eh,  isn't 
that  your  meaning?  " 

"You  are  certainly  some  years  older  than  the  lady,"  said 
Dill,  blandly. 

"Not  old  enough  to  be,  as  the  world  would  surely  say, 
'her  father,'  but  fully  old  enough  to  give  license  for 
sarcasm." 

"Then,  as  she  will  be  a  great  fortune  —  " 
"Not   a   sixpence, — she'll   not   have   sixpence,  doctor. 
That  bubble  has  burst  at  last,  and  can  never  be  blown  again. 
The  whole  claim  has  been  rejected,  refused,  thrown  out,  and 


112  BAHKIXGTON. 

there  's  an  end  of  it.  It  aniuses  the  old  man  to  sit  on  the 
wreck  and  fancy  he  can  repair  the  shattered  timbers  and 
make  them  seaworthy;  and,  for  the  time  he  is  likely  to  last, 
it  is  only  kindness  to  leave  him  to  his  delusion ;  but  he  is 
ruined,  —  ruined  beyond  recall,  and  as  I  have  told  you,  the 
girl  will  have  nothing." 

"Do  they  know  this,  —  has  Harrington  heard  it?" 

"Yes,  I  broke  it  to  him  last  night,  but  I  don't  think  he 
fully  realized  the  tidings;  he  has  certain  reserves  —  cer- 
tain little  conceits  of  his  own  —  which  are  to  supply  him 
with  a  sort  of  hope;  but  let  us  talk  of  something  more  prac- 
tical.    How  can  we  secure  Miss  Dill's  services?" 

"A  few  days  ago,  the  easiest  way  would  have  been  to 
offer  to  befriend  her  brother,  but  this  morning  brings  us 
news  that  this  is  not  needed,  — he  is  coming  home." 

"How  so?" 

"It  is  a  great  event  in  its  way;  at  least,  it  may  be  for 
Tom.  It  seems  there  was  a  collision  at  sea,  somewhere 
near  the  Cape,  between  the  ship  '  St.  Helen's,'  that  carried 
out  General  Hunter  and  his  staff,  and  the  '  Regulus,'  with 
the  Forty-ninth  on  board.  It  was  at  night,  and  a  terrible 
sea  on  at  the  time.  In  the  shock  the  '  St.  Helen's '  took 
fire;  and  as  the  two  ships  were  inextricably  locked  together, 
the  danger  was  common  to  each.  While  the  boats  were 
being  lowered  and  manned,  —  for  it  was  soon  seen  the 
vessel  could  not  be  saved,  —  a  cry  was  raised  that  the  fire 
was  gaining  on  the  fore-hold,  and  would  soon  reach  the 
magazine.  The  woful  news  spread  at  once,  and  many 
jumped  overboard  in  their  terror.  Just  then  Tom  heard 
that  there  was  a  means  of  drowning  the  powder  by  opening 
a  certain  sluice,  and,  without  waiting  for  more,  he  clam- 
bered across  into  the  sinking  vessel,  made  his  way  through 
smoke  and  fire,  gained  the  spot,  and  succeeded,  just  as  the 
very  ladder  itself  had  caught  the  flames.  How  he  got  back 
he  cannot  tell,  for  the  vessel  foundered  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  he  was  so  burned  —  face,  cheek,  and  one  shoulder  —  that 
he  was  unconscious  of  everything;  and  even  when  the  ac- 
count came,  was  still  in  bed,  and  not  able  to  see." 

"  He  was  a  wild  sort  of  lad,  was  he  not,  —  a  scamp,  in 
short?" 


A  DOCTOR   AND   HIS  PATIENT.  113 

*'Xo,  not  exactly  that;  idle  —  careless  —  kept  bad  com- 
pany at  times." 

••  These  are  the  fellows  who  do  this  kind  of  thing  once  in 
their  lives,  —  mark  you,  never  twice.  They  never  have  more 
than  one  shot  in  their  locker,  but  it  will  suffice  in  this  case." 

Though  the  worthy  doctor  was  very  far  from  enthusiastic 
about  his  son's  gallantry,  there  was  a  degree  of  coolness  in 
the  Major's  estimate  of  it  that  almost  shocked  him;  and  he 
sat  staring  steadily  at  the  stern  bronzed  face,  and  the  hard 
lineaments  of  the  man,  and  wondering  of  what  strange  stuff 
such  natures  were  fashioned. 

"It's  quite  clear,  then,  that  for  Master  Tom  we  can  do 
nothing  half  so  good  as  chance  has  done  for  him,"  said 
Stapylton,  after  a  short  interval. 

"Chance  and  himself  too,"  added  the  doctor. 

Stapylton  made  no  answer,  but,  covering  his  eyes  with 
his  hand,  lay  deep  in  thought. 

'•If  you  only  had  the  Attorney-General,  Mr.  Withering, 
on  your  side,"  said  Dill.  "There  is  no  man  has  the  same 
influence  over  this  family." 

"It  is  not  what  you  call  influence  I  want,  my  good  sir. 
It  is  a  far  more  subtle  and  more  delicate  agent,  I  require 
the  sort  of  aid,  in  fact,  which  your  daughter  could  supply, 
if  she  would.  An  appointment  awaits  me  in  India,  but  I 
must  occupy  it  at  once.  I  have  no  time  for  a  long  court- 
ship. I  'm  just  as  hurried  as  that  boy  of  yours  was  when 
he  swamped  the  powder-magazine.  It 's  a  skirmish  where 
I  can't  wait  for  the  heavy  artillery,  but  must  do  my  best  with 
the  light  field-guns,  — do  you  understand  me?" 

Dill  nodded,  and  Stapylton  resumed:  "The  thing  can  be 
done  just  by  the  very  road  that  you  have  pronounced  impos- 
sible,—  that  is,  by  the  romantic  side  of  it,  — making  it  a 
case  of  violent  love  at  first  sight,  the  passion  of  a  man  past 
the  heyda}'  of  youth,  but  yet  young  enough  to  feel  a  most 
ardent  affection.  I  am,  besides,"  said  he,  laughing  with  a 
strange  blending  of  levity  and  sarcasm,  "a  sort  of  Brum- 
magem hero;  have  been  wounded,  led  assaults,  and  that 
kind  of  thing,  to  a  degree  that  puffery  can  take  the  benefit 
of.  And,  last  of  all,  doctor,  I  am  rich  enough  to  satisfy 
greater  ambitions  than  ought  to  live  under  such  a  roof  as 

VOL.   II.  —  8 


114  BARRINGTON. 

this.  Do  you  see  the  part  your  daughter  can  take  in  this 
drama?" 

"Perhaps  I  do." 

"And  could  you  induce  her  to  accept  it?" 

"I'm  not  very  certain, — I'd  be  slow  to  pledge  myself 
to  it." 

^'Certainly,"  said  Stapylton,  mockinglj^;  "the  passing 
glimpses  we  bachelors  obtain  of  the  working  of  that  vaunted 
institution,  The  Family,  fail  to  impress  us  with  all  its  im- 
puted excellence;  you  are,  it  seems  to  me,  just  as  powerless 
within  your  own  doors  as  I  am  regarding  what  goes  on  in 
a  neighbor's  house.  I  take  it,  however,  that  it  can't  be 
helped.  Children,  like  colonies,  are  only  governable  when 
helpless." 

"I  suspect  you  are  wrong,  sir;  at  least,  I  fancy  I  have  as 
much  of  the  sort  of  influence  you  speak  of  as  others ;  but 
still,  I  think,  here,  in  this  particular  case,  you  would  your- 
self be  your  best  ambassador,  if  you  were  strong  enough  to 
come  down  with  me  in  the  boat  to-day." 

"Of  course  I  am!  "  cried  Stapj'lton,  starting  up  to  a  sit- 
ting posture;  "and  what  then?" 

"You  would  be  better  in  my  house  than  this,"  said  Dill, 
mysteriously. 

"Speak  out,  and  speak  clearly,  doctor;  I  have  very  little 
the  matter  with  me,  and  am  in  no  want  of  change  of  air. 
What  I  need  is  the  assistance  of  one  dexterous  enough  to 
advocate  my  plans  with  persons  and  in  places  to  which  I 
have  no  access.  Your  daughter  is  just  such  a  one,  —  will 
she  do  it?" 

"We  can  ask  her." 

"Well,  how  will  you  explain  my  absence  to  these  people 
here?  What  will  you  say  for  my  not  appearing  at  break- 
fast, and  yet  being  able  to  take  an  airing  with  you?" 

"I  will  put  it  on  hygienic  grounds,"  said  Dill,  smiling 
acutely.  "My  profession  has  a  number  of  sanctuaries  the 
profane  vulgar  can  never  enter.  I  '11  just  step  down  now 
and  ask  Barrington  to  lend  me  his  boat,  and  I  '11  throw  out 
a  dark  hint  that  I  'd  like  to  manage  a  consultation  on  your 
case  without  alarming  you,  for  which  purpose  I  'd  ask  Dr. 
Tobin  to  be  at  my  house,  when  we  arrive  there,  by  mere 


A  DOCTOR  AND  HIS  PATIENT.  115 

accident,  so  that  a  conference  would  follow  as  a  matter  of 
course." 

"Very  wily,  —  very  subtle  all  this,  doctor.  Do  you  know, 
I  'm  half  frightened  at  the  thought  of  trusting  myself  to  such 
a  master  of  iutrigue  and  mystification." 

"Have  no  fears;  I  reserve  all  my  craft  for  my  clients." 
And  with  this  he  left  the  room,  but  only  for  a  few  minutes; 
for  he  met  Barrington  on  the  stairs,  and  speedily  obtained 
permission  to  take  his  boat  to  Inistioge,  having  first 
pledged  himself  to  come  back  with  Stapylton  to  dinner. 

"We  shall  see,  we  shall  see,"  muttered  Stapylton  to  him- 
self. "Your  daughter  must  decide  where  I  am  to  dine  to- 
day." 

By  the  way  —  that  is,  as  they  glided  along  the  bright 
river  —  Dill  tried  to  prepare  Stapylton  for  the  task  before 
him,  by  sundry  hints  as  to  Polly's  temper  and  disposition, 
with  warnings  against  this,  and  cautions  about  that. 
"Above  all,"  said  he,  "don't  try  to  overreach  her." 

"Perfect  frankness  —  candor  itself  —  is  my  device. 
Won't  that  do?" 

"You  must  first  see  will  she  believe  it,"  said  the  doctor, 
slyly ;  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  way  there  was  a  silence 
between  them. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

CROSS-PURPOSES. 

"Where  's  Miss  Polly?  "  said  Dill,  hastily,  as  he  passed  his 
threshold. 

"  She  's  making  the  confusion  of  roses  in  the  kitchen,  sir," 
said  the  maid,  whose  chemistry  had  been  a  neglected  study. 

"Tell  her  that  I  have  come  back,  and  that  there  is  a 
gentleman  along  with  me,"  said  he,  imperiously,  as  he  led 
the  way  into  his  study.  "I  have  brought  you  into  this  den 
of  mine.  Major,  because  I  would  just  say  one  word  more  by 
way  of  caution  before  you  see  Polly.  You  may  imagine, 
from  the  small  range  of  her  intercourse  with  the  world,  and 
her  village  life,  that  her  acuteness  will  not  go  very  far; 
don't  be  too  sure  of  that,  —  don't  reckon  too  much  on  her 
want  of  experience." 

"I  suppose  I  have  encountered  as  sharp  wits  as  hers  be- 
fore this  time  o'  day,"  replied  he,  half  peevishly;  and  then, 
with  an  air  of  better  temper,  added,  "I  have  no  secrets  to 
hide,  no  mystery  to  cloak.  If  I  want  her  alliance,  she  shall 
herself  dictate  the  terms  that  shall  requite  it." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  dubiously,  but  was  silent. 

"I  half  suspect,  my  good  doctor,"  said  Stapylton,  laugh- 
ing, "that  your  charming  daughter  is  a  little,  a  very  little, 
of  a  domestic  despot;  j'ou  are  all  afraid  of  her;  never 
very  sure  of  what  she  will  say  or  do  or  think  on  any  given 
circumstances,  and  nervously  alive  to  the  risk  of  her  dis- 
pleasure." 

"There  is  something  in  what  you  say,"  remarked  Dill, 
with  a  sigh;  "but  it  was  always  my  mistake  to  bring  up 
my  children  with  too  much  liberty  of  action.  From  the 
time  they  were  so  high  "  —  and  he  held  his  hand  out  about 
a  yard  above  the  floor  —  "they  were   their  own  masters." 


CROSS-PURPOSES.  117 

Just  as  the  words  hacV  fallen  from  him,  a  little  chubbj', 
shock-headed  fellow,  about  five  years  old,  burst  into  the 
room,  which  he  believed  unoccupied,  and  then,  suddenly 
seeing  his  papa,  set  up  a  howl  of  terror  that  made  the  house 
ring. 

"What  is  it,  Jimmy,  — what  is  it,  my  poor  man?"  said 
Polly,  rushing  with  tucked-up  sleeves  to  the  spot;  and, 
catching  him  up  in  her  arms,  she  kissed  him  affectionately. 

"Will  you  take  him  away?  —  will  you  take  him  out  of 
that?"  hissed  out  Dill  between  his  teeth.  "Don't  you  see 
Major  Stapylton  here?" 

"Oh,  Major  Stapylton  will  excuse  a  toilette  that  was  never 
intended  for  his  presence." 

"I  will  certainly  say  there  could  not  be  a  more  becoming 
one,  nor  a  more  charming  tableau  to  display  it  in!  " 

"There,  Jimmy,"  said  she,  laughing;  "you  must  have 
some  bread  and  jam  for  getting  me  such  a  nice  compliment." 

And  she  bore  away  the  still  sobbing  urchin,  who,  burying 
his  head  in  her  bosom,  could  never  summon  courage  to  meet 
his  father's  eye. 

"What  a  spacious  garden  you  appear  to  have  here!  "  said 
Stapylton,  who  saw  all  the  importance  of  a  diversion  to  the 
conversation. 

"It  is  a  very  much  neglected  one,"  said  Dill,  pathetically. 
"My  poor  dear  boy  Tom  used  to  take  care  of  it  when  he 
was  here;  he  had  a  perfect  passion  for  flowers." 

Whether  that  Tom  was  associated  in  the  Major's  mind 
with  some  other  very  different  tastes  or  not,  Stapylton  smiled 
slightly,  and  after  a  moment  said,  "If  you  permit  me,  I  '11 
take  a  stroll  through  your  garden,  and  think  over  what  we 
have  been  talking  of." 

"Make  yourself  at  home  in  every  respect,"  said  Dill.  "I 
have  a  few  professional  calls  to  make  in  the  village,  but 
we  '11  meet  at  luncheon." 

"He's  in  the  garden,  Polly,"  said  Dill,  as  he  passed  his 
daughter  on  the  stairs;  "he  came  over  here  this  morning  to 
have  a  talk  with  you." 

"Indeed,  sir! " 

"Yes;  he  has  got  it  into  his  head  that  you  can  be  of 
service  to  him." 


118  BARRINGTON. 

*'It  is  not  impossible,  sir;  I  think  I  might." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  Polly;  I'm  delighted  to  see  you 
take  a  good  sensible  view  of  things.  I  need  not  tell  you 
he  's  a  knowing  one." 

"No,  sir.  But,  as  I  have  heard  you  card-players  say,  '  he 
shows  his  hand.'  " 

"So  he  does,  Polly;  but  I  have  known  fellows  do  that 
just  to  mislead  the  adversary." 

"Sorry  adversaries  that  could  be  taken  in  so  easily." 
And  with  a  saucy  toss  of  her  head  she  passed  on,  scarcely 
noticing  the  warning  gesture  of  her  father's  finger  as  she  went. 

When  she  had  found  her  work-basket  and  supplied  herself 
with  the  means  of  occupying  her  fingers  for  an  hour  or  so, 
she  repaired  to  the  garden  and  took  her  seat  under  a  large 
elm,  around  whose  massive  trunk  a  mossy  bench  ran, 
divided  by  rustic-work  into  a  series  of  separate  places. 

"What  a  churlish  idea  it  was  to  erect  these  barricades, 
Miss  Dill!"  said  Stapylton  as  he  seated  himself  at  her 
,side;  "how  unpicturesque  and  how  prudish!" 

"It  was  a  simple  notion  of  my  brother  Tom's,"  said  she, 
smiling,  "who  thought  people  would  not  be  less  agreeal)le 
by  being  reminded  that  they  had  a  place  of  their  own,  and 
ought  not  to  invade  that  of  their  neighbor." 

"What  an  unsocial  thought!  " 

"Poor  Tom!  A  strange  reproach  to  make  against  you" 
said  she,  laughing  out. 

"By  the  way,  has  n't  he  turned  out  a  hero,  — saved  a  ship 
and  all  she  carried  from  the  flames,  —  and  all  at  the  hazard 
of  his  own  life?  " 

"He  has  done  a  very  gallant  thing;  and,  what's  more, 
I  '11  venture  to  say  there  is  not  a  man  who  saw  it  thinks  so 
little  of  it  as  himself." 

"I  suppose  that  every  brave  man  has  more  or  less  of  that 
feeling." 

"I'm  glad  to  learn  this  fact  from  such  good  authority," 
said  she,  with  a  slight  bend  of  the  head. 

"A  prettily  turned  compliment.  Miss  Dill.  Are  you 
habitually  given  to  flattery?" 

"No-,  I  rather  think  not.  I  believe  the  world  is  pleased 
to  call  me  more  candid  than  courteous." 


CROSS-PURPOSES.  110 

"Will  you  let  me  take  you  at  the  world's  estimate,  — that 
is,  will  you  do  me  the  iuestiuiable  favor  to  bestow  a  little  of 
this  same  candor  upon  me  ?  " 

"Willingly.     What  is  to  be  the  subject  of  it?" 

"The  subject  is  a  very  humble  one,  —  myself!  " 

"How  can  I  possibly  adjudicate  on  such  a  theme?" 

"Better  than  you  think  for,  perhaps !  "  And  for  a  moment 
he  appeared  awkward  and  ill  at  ease.  "Miss  Dill,"  said 
he,  after  a  pause,  "fortune  has  been  using  me  roughly  of 
late ;  and,  like  all  men  who  deem  themselves  hardly  treated, 
I  fly  at  once  to  auy  quarter  where  I  fancy  I  have  found 
a  more  kindly  disposition  towards  me.  Am  I  indulging 
a  self-delusion  in  believing  that  such  sentiments  are 
yours  ? " 

Polly  Dill,  with  her  own  keen  tact,  had  guessed  what  was 
the  real  object  of  Stapylton's  visit.  She  had  even  read  in 
her  father's  manner  how  he  himself  was  a  shareholder  in 
the  scheme,  and  she  had  made  up  her  mind  for  a  great 
frankness  on  each  side;  but  now,  seeing  the  diplomatic  mys- 
teriousness  with  which  the  Major  opened  his  attack,  that 
love  of  mischievous  droUerv'  which  entered  into  her  nature 
suggested  a  very  different  line.  She  determined,  in  fact,  to 
seem  to  accept  the  Major's  speech  as  the  preliminary  to  an 
offer  of  his  hand.  She  therefore  merely  turned  her  head 
slightly,  and  in  a  low  voice  said,  "Continue!  " 

"I  have  not  deceived  myself,  then,"  said  he,  with  more 
warmth  of  manner.  "I  have  secured  one  kind  heart  in  my 
interest?  " 

"You  must  own,"  said  she,  with  a  half-coquettish  look 
of  pique,  "that  you  scarcely  deserve  it." 

"How,  — in  what  way?"  asked  he,  in  astonishment. 

'•  What  a  very  short  memory  you  are  blessed  with !  Must 
I,  then,  remind  you  of  a  certain  evening  at  Cobham?  Must 
I  recall  what  I  thought  at  the  time  very  particular,  as  they 
certainly  were  very  pleasant,  attentions  on  your  part?  Must 
I,  also,  bring  to  mind  a  certain  promised  visit  from  you,  the 
day  and  hour  all  named  by  yourself,  —  a  visit  which  never 
came  off?  And  after  all  this,  Major,  are  you  not  really  a 
bold  man  to  come  down  and  take  up  3'our  negotiation  where 
you  dropped  it?     Is  there  not  in  this  a  strong  conviction  of 


120  BAKKINGTON. 

the  greatness  of  :Major  Stapyltou  aud  the  littleness  of  the 
doctor's  daughter?" 

Stapylton  was  struck  duinb.  When  a  general  sees  that 
what  he  meant  as  a  feint  has  been  converted  into  a  real 
attack,  the  situation  is  often  imminent;  but  what  compari- 
son in  difficulty  is  there  between  that  mistake  and  that  of 
him  who  assails  what  he  never  desired  to  conquer?  How  he 
inwardly  cursed  the  stupidity  with  which  he  had  opened  his 
negotiation! 

"I  perceive,"  said  she,  triumphing  over  his  confusion, 
"that  your  calmer  judgment  does  not  reassure  you.  You 
feel  that  there  is  a  certain  levity  in  this  conduct  not  quite 
excusable!     Own  it  frankly,  and  at  once!  " 

"I  will  own,  if  you  like,  that  I  was  never  in  a  situation 
of  greater  embarrassment!  " 

"Shall  I  tell  you  why?" 

"You  couldn't;  it  would  be  totally  impossible." 

"I  will  try,  however,  if  you  permit  me.  You  do!  Then 
here  goes.  You  no  more  intended  anything  to  come  of  j-our 
little  flirtation  at  Cobham  than  you  now  do  of  a  more  serious 
blunder.  You  never  came  here  this  morning  to  make  your 
court  to  me.  You  are  much  pained  at  the  awkwardness  of 
a  situation  so  naturally  wounding  to  me,  and  for  the  life  of 
you,  you  cannot  imagine  what  escape  there  is  out  of  such  a 
difficulty." 

"You  are  wonderfulh"  clever.  Miss  Dill,"  said  he;  aud 
there  was  an  honest  admiration  in  his  look  that  gave  the 
words  a  full  significance. 

"No,"  said  she,  "but  I  am  wonderfully  good-natured.  I 
forgive  you  what  is  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  for- 
give!" 

"Oh!  if  you  would  but  be  my  friend,"  cried  he,  warml}-. 

"What  a  want  of  tact  there  was  in  that  speech.  Major 
Stapylton!"  said  she,  with  a  laugh;  "but  perhaps  you 
wanted  to  reverse  the  line  of  our  dear  little  poet,  who  tells 
of  some  one  '  that  came  but  for  Friendship,  and  took  away 
Love ' ! " 

"  How  cruel  you  are  in  all  this  mockery  of  me !  " 

"  Does  not  the  charge  of  cruelty  come  rather  ill  from 
youf  —  you,  who  can  afford  to  sport  with  the  affections  of 


CROSS-PURPOSES.  121 

poor  village  maidens.  From  the  time  of  that  '  Major 
bold  of  Halifax '  the  song  tells  of,  I  never  heard  your 
equal." 

"  Could  you  prevail  upon  yourself  to  be  serious  for  a  few 
minutes?"  said  he,  gravely. 

"  I  think  not,  —  at  least  not  just  now ;  but  why  should  I 
make  the  attempt?" 

"  Because  I  would  wish  your  aid  in  a  serious  contingency, 
—  a  matter  in  which  I  am  deeply  interested,  and  which 
involves  probably  my  futui-e  happiness." 

"Ah,  Major!  is  it  possible  that  you  are  going  to  trifle 
with  my  feelings  once  more?" 

"  My  dear  Miss  Dill,  must  I  plead  once  more  for  a  little 
mercy?" 

"  No,  don't  do  any  such  thing;  it  would  seem  ungenerous 
to  refuse,  and  yet  I  could  not  accord  it." 

"  Fairly  beaten,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh;  "  there  is  no  help 
for  it.     You  are  the  victor !  " 

"How  did  j'ou  leave  our  friends  at  'The  Home'?"  said 
she,  with  an  easy  indifference  in  her  tone. 

' '  All  well,  perfectly  well ;  that  is  to  say,  I  believe  so,  for 
I  only  saw  my  host  himself." 

"What  a  pleasant  house;  how  well  they  understand 
receiving  their  friends !  " 

"It  is  so  peaceful  and  so  quiet! "  said  he,  with  an  effort 
to  seem  at  ease. 

"  And  the  garden  is  charming  !  " 

"And  all  this  is  perfectly  intolerable,"  said  he,  rising, 
and  speaking  in  a  voice  thick  with  suppressed  anger.  "I 
never  came  here  to  play  a  part  in  a  vaudeville !  Your  father 
led  me  to  believe.  Miss  Dill,  that  you  might  not  be  indis- 
posed to  lend  me  your  favoring  aid  in  a  suit  whicli  I  am 
interested  in.  He  told  me  I  should  at  least  find  you 
frank  and  outspoken  ;  that  if  you  felt  inclined  to  assist 
me,  you  'd  never  enhance  the  service  by  a  seeming  doubt 
or  hesitation  —  " 

"  And  if  I  should  not  feel  so  inclined,  what  did  he  then 
give  you  to  expect?" 

"  That  you 'd  say  so !  " 

"  So  I   do,  then,  clearly  and  distinctly  tell  you,  if   my 


122  BARRINGTON. 

counsels  offer  a  bar   to  your  wishes,  they  are  all   enlisted 
against  you." 

"  This  is  the  acme  of  candor.  You  can  only  equal  it  by 
saying  how  I  could  have  incurred  your  disfavor." 

"  There  is  nothing  of  disfavor  in  tiie  matter.  I  think  you 
charming.  You  are  a  hero,  —  very  clever,  very  fascinating, 
very  accomplished  ;  but  I  believe  it  would  be  a  great  mistake 
for  Fifine  to  marry  you.  Your  tempers  have  that  sort  of 
resemblance  that  leave  no  reliefs  in  their  mutual  play.  You 
are  each  of  you  hot  and  hasty,  and  a  little  imperious ;  and  if 
she  were  not  very  much  in  love,  and  consequently  disposed 
to  think  a  great  deal  of  you  and  very  little  of  herself,  these 
traits  that  I  speak  of  would  work  ill.  But  if  every  one  of 
them  were  otherwise,  there  would  still  be  one  obstacle  worse 
than  all !  " 

"And  that  is  —  " 

"  Can  you  not  guess  what  I  mean,  Major  Stapylton? 
You  do  not,  surely,  want  confidences  from  me  that  are  more 
than  candor ! " 

"Do  I  understand  you  aright?"  said  he,  growing  red 
and  pale  by  turns,  as  passion  worked  within  him;  "do  I 
apprehend  you  correctly?  These  people  here  are  credu- 
lous enough  to  be  influenced  by  the  shadowy  slanders  of  the 
newspapers,  and  they  listen  to  the  half-muttered  accusations. 
of  a  hireling  press?" 

"They  do  say  very  awkward  things  in  the  daily  press, 
certainly,"  said  she,  dryly ;  "  and  your  friends  marvel  at  the 
silence  with  which  you  treat  them." 

"  Then  I  have  divined  your  meaning,"  said  he.  "It  is 
by  these  cowardly  assailants  I  am  supposed  to  be  van- 
quished. I  suspect,  however,  that  Colonel  Barriugton  him- 
self was,  once  on  a  time,  indulged  with  the  same  sort  of 
flattery.  They  said  that  he  had  usurped  a  sovereignty, 
falsified  documents,  purloined  jewels  of  immense  value.  I 
don't  know  what  they  did  not  charge  him  with.  And  what 
do  they  say  of  me?  That  I  exhibited  great  severity  — 
cruelty,  if  you  will  —  towards  a  mob  in  a  state  of  rebellion  ; 
that  I  reprimanded  a  very  silly  subaltern  for  a  misplaced 
act  of  humanity.  That  I  have  been  cashiered,  too,  they 
assert,    in   face   of    the    'Gazette,'   which    announces    my 


1 


CROSS-PUKPOSES.  123 

appointment  to  an  unattached  majority.  In  a  word,  the 
enormity  of  the  falsehood  has  never  stayed  their  hand,  and 
they  write  of  me  whatever  their  unthinking  malevolence  can 
suggest  to  them.  You  have,  perhaps,  seen  some  of  these 
paragraphs  ? " 

"Like  every  one  else,  I  have  read  them  occasionally; 
not  very  attentively,  indeed.  But,  in  truth,  I'm  not  a 
reader  of  newspapers.  Here,  for  instance,  is  this  morning's 
as  it  came  from  Dublin,  still  unopened ;  "  and  she  handed  it 
as  she  spoke. 

"  Let  us  see  if  I  be  still  honored  with  their  notice," 
said  he,  unfolding  the  paper,  and  running  his  eyes  hastily 
over  it.  ' '  Debate  on  the  Sugar  Bill  —  Prison  Reforms  — 
China  —  Reinforcements  for  Canada  —  Mail  Service  to  the 
Colonies  —  Bankruptcy  Court.  Oh,  here  we  have  it  —  here 
it  is !  "  and  he  crushed  the  paper  while  he  folded  down 
one  part  of  it.  '•  Shall  I  read  it  for  you?  The  heading 
is  very  tempting :  '  Late  Military  Scandal.  —  A  very  curious 
report  is  now  going  through  our  "West-end  Clubs,  and 
especially  such  as  are  the  resort  of  military  officers.  It  is 
to  the  purport  that  a  certain  Field-officer  of  Cavalry  —  whose 
conduct  has  been  the  subject  of  severe  strictures  from  the 
Press  —  will  speedily  be  called  to  answer  for  a  much  graver 
offence  than  the  transgression  of  regimental  discipline.  The 
story  which  has  reached  us  is  a  very  strange  one,  and  we 
should  call  it  incredible,  if  we  were  not  informed,  on  author- 
ity, that  one  of  our  most  distinguished  Indian  generals  has 
declared  himself  fully  satisfied  of  its  truth  in  every  particu- 
lar.' Can  you  fancy  anything  worse  than  that.  Miss  Dill? 
An  unknown  somebody  is  alleged  to  be  convmced  of  an 
unknown  something  that  attaches  to  me ;  for,  of  course,  I 
am  designated  as  the  '  Field-officer  of  Cavalry,'  and  the 
public  is  graciously  pleased  to  hold  me  in  abhorrence  till  I 
have  found  out  my  calumniator  and  refuted  him !  " 

"  It  seems  very  hard.  "Who  do  you  suspect  is  the  Indian 
General  alluded  to  ?  " 

"  Tell  me,  first  of  all,  — does  he  exist?  " 
"  And  this,  too,  you  will  not  reply  to,  nor  notice?  " 
"  Not,   certainly,   through  such  a  channel  as    it   reaches 
me.     If  the  slanderer  will  stand  forth  and  avow  himself, 


124  BARRINGTON. 

I  may  know  how  to  deal  with  him.  But  what  has  led  us 
into  this  digression  ?  1  am  sure  it  is  as  little  to  your  taste 
as  to  mine.  I  have  failed  in  my  mission,  and  if  I  were  able 
to  justify  every  act  of  my  life,  what  would  it  avail  me  ?  You 
have  pronounced  against  me ;  at  least,  you  will  not  take  my 
brief." 

"  What  if  I  were  retained  by  the  other  side?"  said  she, 
smiling. 

"  I  never  suspected  that  there  was  another  side,"  said  he, 
with  an  air  of  extreme  indifference.  "Who  is  my  formi- 
dable rival  ?  " 

"  I  might  have  told  you  if  1  saw  you  were  really  anxious 
on  the  subject." 

"  It  would  be  but  hypocrisy  in  me  to  pretend  it.  If,  for 
example,  Major  M'Cormick  —  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  too  bad  !  "  cried  Polly,  interrupting.  "  This 
would  mean  an  impertinence  to  Miss  Barringtou." 

"  How  pleasant  we  must  have  been  !  Almost  five  o'clock, 
and  I  scarcely  thought  it  could  be  three !  "  said  he,  with  an 
affected  languor. 

"'Time's  foot  is  not  heard  when  he  treads  upon 
flowers,'  "  said  she,  smiling. 

"Where  shall  I  find  your  father,  Miss  Dill?  I  want  to 
tell  him  what  a  charming  creature  his  daughter  is,  and  how 
wretched  I  feel  at  not  being  able  to  win  her  favor." 

"  Pray  don't;  or  he  might  fall  into  my  own  mistake,  and 
imagine  that  you  wanted  a  lease  of  it  for  life." 

"  Still  cruel,  still  inexorable !  "  said  he,  with  a  mockery 
of  affliction  in  his  tone.  "Will  you  say  all  the  proper 
things  —  the  regrets,  and  such  like  —  I  feel  at  not  meeting 
him  again;  and  if  he  has  asked  me  to  dinner  —  which  I 
really  forget — will  you  make  the  fitting  apology?" 

"  And  what  is  it,  in  the  present  case?" 

"I'm  not  exactly  sure  whether  I  am  engaged  to  dine 
elsewhere,  or  too  ill  to  dine  at  all." 

"  Why  not  say  it  is  the  despair  at  being  rejected  renders 
you  unequal  to  the  effort?  I  mean,  of  course,  by  myself, 
Major  Stapylton." 

"  I  have  no  objection;  say  so,  if  you  like,"  said  he,  with 
an   insulting    indifference.     "  Good-day,    Miss   Dill.     This 


CROSS-PURPOSES.  125 

is  the  way  to  the  road,  I  believe  ; "  and,  with  a  low  bow, 
very  deferential  but  very  distant,  he  turned  away  to  leave 
the  garden.  He  had  not,  however,  gone  many  paces,  when 
he  stopped  and  seemed  to  ponder.  He  looked  up  at  the 
sky,  singularly  clear  and  cloudless  as  it  was,  without  a 
breath  of  wind  in  the  air ;  he  gazed  around  him  on  every 
side,  as  if  in  search  of  an  object  he  wanted  ;  and  then,  tak- 
ing out  his  purse,  he  drew  forth  a  shilling  and  examined  it. 
"Yes,"  muttered  he,  "  Chance  has  been  my  only  counsellor 
for  many  a  year,  and  the  only  one  that  never  takes  a  bribe  ! 
And  yet,  is  it  not  taking  to  the  raft  before  the  ship  has 
foundered  ?  True ;  but  shall  I  be  sure  of  the  raft  if  I  wait 
for  the  shipwreck?  She  is  intensely  crafty.  She  has  that 
sort  of  head  that  loves  a  hard  knot  to  unravel !  Here  goes  ! 
Let  Destiny  take  all  the  consequences !  "  and  as  he  flung 
up  the  piece  of  money  in  the  air,  he  cried,  "Head!"  It 
was  some  minutes  ere  he  could  discover  where  it  had  fallen, 
amongst  the  close  leaves  of  a  border  of  strawberries.  He 
bent  down  to  look,  and  exclaimed,  "Head!  she  has  won!  " 
Just  as  he  arose  from  his  stooping  attitude  he  perceived 
that  Polly  was  engaged  in  the  adjoining  walk,  making  a 
bouquet  of  roses.  He  sprang  across  the  space,  and  stood 
beside  her. 

"  I  thought  you  had  been  a  mile  off  by  this  time,  at  least," 
said  she,  calmly. 

"  So  I  meant,  and  so  I  intended;  but  just  as  I  parted 
from  you,  a  thought  struck  me  —  one  of  those  thoughts 
which  come  from  no  process  of  reasoning  or  reflection,  but 
seem  impelled  by  a  force  out  of  our  own  natures  —  that  I 
would  come  back  and  tell  you  something  that  was  passing  in 
my  mind.     Can  you  guess  it?  " 

"No;  except  it  be  that  you  are  sorry  for  having  trifled 
so  unfeelingly  with  my  hopes,  and  have  come  back  to  make 
the  best  reparation  in  your  power,  asking  me  to  forgive  and 
accept  you." 

"  You  have  guessed  aright ;  it  was  for  that  I  returned." 

"  "What  a  clever  guess  I  made !  Confess  I  am  very  ready- 
witted  !  " 

"You  are;  and  it  is  to  engage  those  ready  wits  in  my 
behalf  that  I  am  now  before  you." 


126  BARRLNGTON. 

"  '  At  my  feet,*  sir,  is  the  appropriate  expression.  I  won- 
der how  a  gentleman  so  suited  to  be  the  hero  of  a  story 
could  forget  the  language  of  the  novel." 

"  I  want  you  to  be  serious,"  said  he,  almost  sternly. 

"  And  why  should  that  provoke  seriousness  from  me  which 
only  costs  you  levity?" 

"  Levity  !  —  where  is  the  levity  ?  " 

"Is  it  not  this  instant  that  you  flung  a  shilling  in  the  air, 
and  cried  out,  as  you  looked  on  it,  '  She  has  won '  ?  Is  it 
not  that  you  asked  Chance  to  decide  for  you  what  most  men 
are  led  to  by  their  affections,  or  at  least  their  interests ;  and 
if  so,  is  levity  not  the  name  for  this?" 

"  True  in  part,  but  not  in  whole  ;  for  I  felt  it  was  I  who 
had  won  when  '  head '  came  uppermost." 

"  And  yet  you  have  lost." 

"  How  so !     You  refuse  me?  " 

"I  forgive  your  astonishment.  It  is  really  strange,  but 
I  do  refuse  j'ou." 

"But  why?  Are  you  piqued  with  me  for  anything  that 
occurred  this  morning?  Have  I  offended  you  by  an3-thing 
that  dropped  from  me  in  that  conversation?  Tell  me  frankly, 
that  I  may,  if  in  my  power,  rectify  it." 

' '  No ;  I  rather  felt  flattered  at  the  notion  of  being  con- 
sulted. I  thought  it  a  great  tribute  to  my  clear-headedness 
and  my  tact." 

"  Then  tell  me  what  it  was." 

"You  really  wish  it?" 

"I  do." 

"Insist  upon  it?" 

"  I  insist  upon  it." 

"Well,  it  was  this.  Seeing  that  you  were  intrusting 
your  future  fortune  to  chance,  I  thought  that  I  would  do  the 
same,  and  so  I  tossed  up  whether,  opportunity  serving,  I 
should  accept  you  or  a  certain  other,  and  tiie  other  won !  " 

"  May  I  ask  for  the  name  of  my  fortunate  rival?" 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  very  fair,  perhaps  not  altogether  deli- 
cate of  you  ;  and  the  more  since  he  has  not  proj^osed,  nor 
possibly  ever  may.  But  no  matter,  you  shall  hear  his  name. 
It  was  Major  M'Cormick." 

"  ISI'Cormick!  You  mean  this  for  an  insult  to  me,  Miss 
Dill  ?  " 


CROSS-PURPOSES. 


127 


"Well,  it  certainly  is  open  to  that  objection,"  said  she, 
with  a  very  slight  closure  of  her  eyes,  and  a  look  of  steady, 
resolute  defiance. 


..>.^[&:^ 


"And  in  this  way,"  continued  he,  "to  throw  ridicule  over 
the  offer  I  have  made  you  ?  " 

"Scarcely  that;  the  proposition  was  in  itself  too  ridicu- 
lous to  require  any  such  aid  from  me." 

For  a  moment  Stapylton  lost  his  self-possession,  and  he 
turned  on  her  with  a  look  of  savage  malignity. 


128  BARRINGTON. 

"An  insult,  and  an  intentional  insult! "  said  be;  "a  bold 
tbing  to  avow." 

"1  don't  tbink  so,  Major  Stapylton.  We  bave  been  play- 
ing a  very  rougb  game  witb  eacb  otber,  and  it  is  not  very 
wonderful  if  eacb  of  us  sbould  bave  to  complain  of  bard 
treatment." 

"•Could  not  so  very  clever  a  person  as  Miss  Dill  perceive 
tbat  I  was  only  jesting  ?  "  said  be,  witb  a  cutting  insolence 
in  bis  tone. 

"I  assure  you  tbat  I  did  not,"  said  sbe,  calmly;  "bad  I 
known  or  even  suspected  it  was  a  jest,  I  never  sbould  bave 
been  angry.  Tbat  tbe  distinguisbed  Major  Stapylton  sbould 
mock  and  quiz  —  or  whatever  be  tbe  name  for  it  —  tbe 
doctor's  daugbter,  bowever  questionable  tbe  good  taste,  was, 
after  all,  only  a  passing  sligbt.  Tbe  tbougbt  of  asking  ber 
to  marry  bim  was  different,  —  tbat  was  an  outrage!  " 

"You  sball  pay  for  tbis  one  day,  perbaps,"  said  be,  biting 
his  lip. 

"No,  Major  Stapylton,"  said  sbe,  laugbing;  "tbis  is  not 
a  debt  of  bonor;  you  can  afford  to  ignore  it." 

"I  tell  you  again,  you  sball  pay  for  it." 

"Till  tben,  sir!  "  said  sbe,  witb  a  courtesy;  and  witbout 
giving  bim  time  for  auotber  word,  sbe  turned  and  re-entered 
tbe  bouse. 

Scarcely  bad  Stapylton  gained  tbe  road  wben  be  was  joined 
by  M'Cormick.  "Faitb,  you  didn't  get  tbe  best  of  tbat 
brusb,  anybow,"  said  be,  witb  a  grin. 

"Wbat  do  you  mean,  sir?"  replied  Stapylton,  savagely. 

"I  mean  tbat  I  beard  every  word  tbat  passed  between  you, 
and  I  would  n't  bave  been  standing  in  your  sboes  for  a  fifty- 
pound  note." 

"How  is  your  rbeumatism  tbis  morning?"  asked  Stapyl- 
ton, blandl}^ 

"Pretty  mucb  as    it  alwaj's  is,"  croaked  out  tbe  otber. 

"Be  tbankful  to  it,  tben;  for  if  you  were  not  a  cripple, 
I  'd  tbrow  you  into  tbat  river  as  sure  as  I  stand  bere  to 
say  it." 

Major  M'Cormick  did  not  wait  for  a  less  merciful  moment, 
but  bobbled  away  from  tbe  spot  witb  all  tbe  speed  be  could 
muster. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

STORMS. 

When  Stapylton  stepped  out  of  his  boat  and  landed  at  "The 
Home,"  the  first  person  he  saw  was  certainly  the  last  in  his 
wishes.  It  was  Miss  Dinah  who  stood  at  the  jetty,  as 
though  awaiting  him.  Scarcely  deigning  to  notice,  beyond 
a  faint  smile  of  acquiescence,  the  somewhat  bungling  ex- 
planation he  gave  of  his  absence,  she  asked  if  he  had  met 
her  brother. 

"No,"  said  he.  "I  left  the  village  a  couple  of  hours  ago; 
rather  loitering,  as  I  came  along,  to  enjoy  the  river  scenery." 

"He  took  the  road,  and  in  this  way  missed  you,"  said 
she,  dryly. 

"How  unfortunate!  —  for  rae,  I  mean,  of  course.  I  own 
to  you,  Miss  Barrington,  wide  as  the  difference  between  our 
ages,  I  never  yet  met  any  one  so  thoroughly  companionable 
to  me  as  your  brother.  To  meet  a  man  so  consummately 
acquainted  with  the  world,  and  yet  not  soured  by  his  knowl- 
edge ;  to  see  the  ripe  wisdom  of  age  blended  with  the  gener- 
ous warmth  of  youth ;  to  find  one  whose  experiences  only 
make  him  more  patient,  more  forgiving,  more  trustful  —  " 

"Too  trustful,  Major  Stapylton,  far  too  trustful."  And 
her  bold  gray  eyes  were  turned  upon  him  as  she  spoke,  with 
a  significance  that  could  not  be  mistaken. 

"It  is  a  noble  feeling,  madam,"  said  he,  haughtily. 

"It  is  a  great  misfortune  to  its  possessor,  sir." 

"Can  we  deem  that  misfortune.  Miss  Barrington,  which 
enlarges  the  charity  of  our  natures,  and  teaches  us  to  be 
slow  to  think  ill?" 

Not  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  his  question,  she 
said,  — 

VOL.    II.  —  9 


130  BARRLNGTON. 

"^NI}^  brother -went  in  search  of  j-ou,  sir,  to  place  in  your 
hands  some  very  urgent  letters  from  the  Horse  Guards,  and 
which  a  special  messenger  brought  here  this  morning." 

"Truly  kind  of  him.  They  relate,  I  have  no  doubt,  to 
my  Indian  appointment.  They  told  me  I  should  have  news 
by  to-day  or  to-morrow." 

"He  received  a  letter  also  for  himself,  sir,  which  he 
desired  to  show  you." 

"About  his  lawsuit,  of  course?  It  is  alike  a  pleasure  and 
a  duty  to  me  to  serve  him  in  that  affair." 

"It  more  nearly  concerns  yourself,  sir,"  said  she,  in  the 
same  cold,  stern  tone;  "though  it  has  certainly  its  bearing 
on  the  case  you  speak  of." 

"More  nearly  concerns  myself!"  said  he,  repeating  her 
words  slowly.  "I  am  about  the  worst  guesser  of  a  riddle 
in  the  world.  Miss  Barrington.  AVould  you  kindly  i-elieve 
my  curiosity  ?  Is  this  letter  a  continuation  of  those  cowardly 
attacks  which,  in  the  want  of  a  worthier  theme,  the  Press 
have  amused  themselves  by  making  upon  me?  Is  it  possible 
that  some  enemy  has  had  the  malice  to  attack  me  through 
my  friends?  " 

"The  writer  of  the  letter  in  question  is  a  sufficient  guar- 
antee for  its  honor,  Mr.  Withering." 

"Mr.  Withering!  "  repeated  he,  with  a  start,  and  then,  as 
suddenly  assuming  an  easy  smile,  added:  "I  am  perfectly 
tranquil  to  find  myself  in  such  hands  as  Mr.  Withering's. 
And  what,  pray,  does  lie  saj'  of  me?" 

"AVill  you  excuse  me.  Major  Stapylton,  if  I  do  not  enter 
upon  a  subject  on  which  I  am  not  merely  very  imperfectly 
informed,  but  on  which  so  humble  a  judgment  as  mine 
would  be  valueless?  My  brother  showed  me  the  letter  very 
hurriedly;  I  had  but  time  to  see  to  what  it  referred,  and  to 
be  aware  that  it  was  his  duty  to  let  you  see  it  at  once,  —  if 
possible,  indeed,  before  you  were  again  under  his  roof." 

"What  a  grave  significance  your  words  have,  Miss  Bar- 
rington! "  said  he,  with  a  cold  smile.  "They  actually  set 
me  to  think  over  all  my  faults  and  failings,  and  wonder  for 
which  of  them  I  am  now  arraigned." 

"We  do  not  profess  to  judge  you,  sir." 

By  this  time  they  had  sauntered  up  to  the  little  garden  in 


STORMS.  131 

front  of  the  cottage,  within  the  paling  of  which  Josephine 
was  busily  engaged  in  training  a  japonica.  She  arose  as 
she  heard  the  voices,  and  in  her  accustomed  tone  wished 
Stapylton  good-evening.  "/S'Ae,  at  least,  has  heard  nothing 
of  all  this,"  muttered  he  to  himself,  as  he  saluted  her.  He 
then  opened  the  little  wicket;  and  Miss  Barringtou  passed 
in,  acknowledging  his  attention  by  a  short  nod,  as  she 
walked  hastily  forward  and  entered  the  cottage.  Instead 
of  following  her,  Stapylton  closed  the  wicket  again,  re- 
maining on  the  outside,  and  leaning  his  arm  on  the  upper 
rail. 

"Why  do  you  perform  sentry?  Are  you  not  free  to  enter 
the  fortress  ? "  said  Fifine. 

"I  half  suspect  not,"  said  he,  in  a  low  tone,  and  to  hear 
which  she  was  obliged  to  draw  nigher  to  where  he  stood. 

"What  do  you  mean?     I  don't  understand  you!  " 

"No  great  wonder,  for  I  don't  understand  myself.  Your 
aunt  has,  however,  in  her  own  most  mysterious  way,  given 
me  to  believe  that  somebody  has  written  something  about 
me  to  somebody  else,  and  until  I  clear  up  what  in  all  prob- 
ability I  shall  never  hear,  that  I  had  better  keep  to  what  the 
Scotch  call  the  '  back  o'  the  gate. '  " 

"This  is  quite  unintelligible." 

"I  hope  it  is,  for  it  is  almost  unendurable.  I  am  sorely 
afraid,"  added  he,  after  a  minute,  "that  I  am  not  so  patient 
as  I  ought  to  be  under  Miss  Barrington's  strictures.  I  am 
so  much  more  in  the  habit  of  command  than  of  obedience, 
that  I  may  forget  myself  now  and  then.  To  you,  however, 
I  am  ready  to  submit  all  my  past  life  and  conduct.  By 
you  I  am  willing  to  be  judged.  If  these  cruel  calumnies 
which  are  going  the  round  of  the  papers  on  me  have  lowered 
me  in  your  estimation,  my  case  is  a  lost  one;  but  if,  as  I 
love  to  think,  your  woman's  heart  resents  an  injustice,  —  if, 
taking  counsel  of  your  courage  and  your  generosity,  you  feel 
it  is  not  the  time  to  withdraw  esteem  when  the  dark  hour  of 
adversity  looms  over  a  man,  —  then,  I  care  no  more  for 
these  slanders  than  for  the  veriest  trifles  which  cross  one's 
every-day  life.  In  one  word,  —  your  verdict  is  life  or 
death  to  me." 

"In  that  case,"  said  she,  with  an  effort  to  dispel  the  seri* 


132  BARRINGTON. 

ousness  of  his  manner,  "  I  must  have  time  to  consider  my 
sentence." 

"But  that  is  exactly  what  you  cannot  have,  Josephine," 
said  he;  and  there  was  a  certain  earnestness  in  his  voice 
and  look,  which  made  her  hear  him  call  her  by  her  name 
without  any  sense  of  being  offended.  "First  relieve  the 
suffering;  there  will  be  ample  leisure  to  question  the  suf- 
ferer afterwards.  The  Good  Samaritan  wasted  few  words, 
and  asked  for  no  time.  The  noblest  services  are  those  of 
which  the  cost  is  never  calculated.  Your  own  heart  can 
tell  you :  can  you  befriend  me,  and  will  you  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know  what  it  is  you  ask  of  me,"  said  she,  with 
a  frank  boldness  which  actually  disconcerted  him.  "Tell 
me  distinctly,  what  is  it?" 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  he,  taking  her  hand,  but  so  gently, 
so  respectfully  withal,  that  she  did  not  at  first  withdraw  it, 
—  "I  will  tell  you.  It  is  that  you  will  share  that  fate  on 
which  fortune  is  now  frowning;  that  you  will  add  your 
own  high-couraged  heart  to  that  of  one  who  never  knew  a 
fear  till  now;  that  you  will  accept  my  lot  in  this  the  day  of 
my  reverse,  and  enable  me  to  turn  upon  my  pursuers  and 
scatter  them.  To-morrow  or  next  day  will  be  too  late.  It 
is  now,  at  this  hour,  that  friends  hold  back,  that  one  more 
than  friend  is  needed.     Can  you  be  that,  Josephine?" 

"No!  "  said  she,  firmly.  "If  I  read  your  meaning  aright, 
I  cannot." 

"You  cannot  love  me,  Josephine,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  of 
intense  emotion ;  and  though  he  waited  some  time  for  her 
to  speak,  she  was  silent.  "It  is  true,  then,"  said  he,  pas- 
sionately, "the  slanderers  have  done  their  work!  " 

"I  know  nothing  of  these  calumnies.  When  my  grand- 
father told  me  that  they  accused  you  falsely,  and  condemned 
you  unfairly,  I  believed  him.  I  am  as  ready  as  ever  to  say 
so.  I  do  not  understand  your  cause;  but  I  believe  you  to 
be  a  true  and  gallant  gentleman !  " 

"But  yet,  not  one  to  love!  "  whispered  he,  faintly. 

Again  she  was  silent,  and  for  some  time  he  did  not 
speak. 

"A  true  and  gallant  gentleman!"  said  he,  slowly  repeat- 
ing her  own  words;  "and  if  so,  is  it  an  unsafe  keeping  to 


STORMS.  133 

which  to  intrust  your  happiness?  It  is  no  graceful  task  to 
have  oneself  for  a  theme ;  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  have  no 
witnesses  to  call  to  character;  a  few  brief  lines  in  an  army 
list,  and  some  scars  —  old  reminders  of  French  sabres  —  are 
poor  certificates,  and  yet  I  have  no  others." 

There  was  something  which  touched  her  in  the  sadness 
of  his  tone  as  he  said  these  words,  and  if  she  knew  how, 
she  would  have  spoken  to  him  in  kindliness.  He  mistook 
the  sti'ugole  for  a  change  of  purpose,  and  with  greater  eager- 
ness continued:  "After  all  1  am  scarcely  more  alone  in  the 
world  than  you  are!  The  dear  friends  who  now  surround 
you  cannot  be  long  spared,  and  what  isolation  will  be  your 
fate  then!  Think  of  this,  and  think,  too,  how,  in  assuring 
your  own  future,  you  rescue  mine." 

Very  differently  from  his  former  speech  did  the  present 
affect  her;  and  her  cheeks  glowed  and  her  eyes  flashed  as 
she  said,  "I  have  never  intrusted  my  fate  to  your  keeping, 
sir;  and  you  may  spare  yourself  all  anxiety  about  it." 

"You  mistake  me.     You  wrong  me,  Josephine  —  " 

"You  wrong  yourself  when  you  call  me  by  my  Christian 
name;  and  you  arm  me  with  distrust  of  one  who  would 
presume  upon  an  interest  he  has  not  created." 

"You  refuse  me,  then?"  said  he,  slowly  and  calmly. 

"Once,  and  forever!" 

"It  may  be  that  you  are  mistaken,  ^Miss  Barrington.  It 
may  be  that  this  other  affection,  which  you  prefer  to  mine, 
is  but  the  sickly  sentiment  of  a  foolish  boy,  whose  life  up  to 
this  has  not  given  one  single  guarantee,  nor  shown  one 
single  trait  of  those  which  make  '  true  and  gallant  gentle- 
men.'    But  you  have  made  your  choice." 

"I  have,"  said  she,  with  a  low  but  firm  voice. 

"You  acknowledge,  then,  that  I  was  right."  cried  he, 
suddenly;  "there  is  a  prior  attachment?  Your  heart  is  not 
your  own  to  give? " 

"And  by  what  right  do  you  presume  to  question  me? 
Who  are  you,  that  dares  to  do  this?" 

"Who  am  I?"  cried  he,  and  for  once  his  voice  rose  to 
the  discordant  ring  of  passion. 

"Yes,  that  was  my  question,"  repeated  she,  firmly. 

"So,  then,  you  have  had  your  lesson,  young  lady,"  said 


134  BARRINGTON. 

he;  and  the  words  came  from  him  with  a  hissiug  sound, 
that  indicated  intense  anger,  "Who  am  I?  You  want  my 
birth,  my  parentage,  my  bringing  up!  Had  you  no  friend 
who  could  have  asked  this  in  your  stead?  Or  were  all  tnose 
around  you  so  bereft  of  courage  that  they  deputed  to  a 
young  girl  what  should  have  been  the  oflice  of  a  man?" 

Though  the  savage  earnestness  of  his  manner  startled,  it 
did  not  affright  her;  and  it  was  with  a  cold  quietness  she 
said,  "If  you  had  known  my  father.  Major  Stapylton,  I 
suspect  you  would  not  have  accused  his  daughter  of 
cowardice! " 

"Was  he  so  very  terrible?"  said  he,  with  a  smile  that 
was  half  a  sneer. 

"He  would  have  been,  to  a  man  like  you." 

"To  a  man  like  me,  — a  man  like  me!  Do  you  know, 
young  lady,  that  either  your  words  are  very  idle  words  or 
very  offensive  ones?  " 

"And  yet  I  have  no  wish  to  recall  them,  sir." 

"It  would  be  better  j'ou  could  find  some  one  to  sustain 
them.  Unfortunately,  however,  you  cannot  ask  that  gal- 
lant gentleman  we  were  just  talking  of;  for  it  is  only  the 
other  da}',  and  after  passing  over  to  Calais  to  meet  me,  his 
friends  pretend  that  there  is  some  obstacle  to  our  meeting. 
I  owe  my  tailor  or  my  bootmaker  something;  or  I  have 
not  paid  my  subscription  to  a  club;  or  I  have  left  an  un- 
settled bill  ai  Baden.  I  really  forget  the  precise  pretext; 
but  it  was  one  which  to  them  seemed  quite  sufficient  to 
balk  me  of  a  redress,  and  at  the  same  time  to  shelter  their 
friend." 

"I  will  not  believe  one  word  of  it,  sir!  " 

"Well,  we  have  at  least  arrived  at  a  perfect  frankness  in 
our  intercourse.  Ma}'  I  ask  you,  young  lad}-,  which  of 
your  relatives  has  suggested  3'our  present  course!  Is 
it  to  your  aunt  or  to  your  grandfather  I  must  go  for  an 
explanation?  " 

"I  suspect  it  is  to  me^  Major  Stapylton,"  said  Barrington, 
as  he  came  from  behind  Josephine.  "It  is  to  me  you  must 
address  yourself.  Fifine,  my  dear,  your  aunt  is  looking  for 
you;  go  and  tell  her,  too,  that  I  am  quite  ready  for  tea,  and 
you  will  find  me  here  when  it  is  ready.     Major  Stapylton 


STORMS.  135 

and  I  will  take  a  stroll  along  the  river-side."  Now  this  last 
was  less  an  invitation  than  a  sort  of  significant  hint  to 
Stapylton  that  his  host  had  no  intention  to  ask  him  to  cross 
his  threshold,  at  least  for  the  present;  and,  indeed,  as  Bar- 
rington  passed  out  and  closed  the  wicket  after  him,  he 
seemed  as  though  closing  the  entrance  forever. 

With  a  manner  far  more  assured  than  his  wont.  Barring- 
ton  said:  "I  have  been  in  pursuit  of  you,  Major  Stapylton, 
since  four  o'clock.  I  missed  you  by  having  taken  the  road 
instead  of  the  river;  and  am  much  grieved  that  the  com- 
munication I  have  to  make  you  should  not  take  place 
anywhere  rather  than  near  my  roof  or  within  my  own 
gates." 

"I  am  to  suppose  from  your  words,  sir,  that  what  you  are 
about  to  say  can  scarcely  be  said  to  a  friend ;  and  if  so, 
cannot  you  hit  upon  a  more  convenient  mode  of  making 
your  communication?" 

"I  think  not.  I  believe  that  I  shall  be  dealing  more 
fairly  with  you  by  saying  what  I  have  to  say  in  person." 

"Go  on,"  said  Stapylton,  calmly,  as  the  other  paused. 

"You  are  aware,"  continued  Barriugton,  "that  the  chief 
obstacle  to  a  settlement  of  the  claims  I  have  long  preferred 
against  the  India  Company  has  been  a  certain  document 
which  they  possess,  declaring  that  a  large  portion  of  the 
territory  held  hj  the  Rajah  of  Luckerabad  was  not  amenable 
to  the  laws  that  regulate  succession,  being  what  is  called 
'  Lurkar-teea,' — conquered  country, — over  which,  under 
no  circumstances,  could  the  Rajah  exercise  prospective 
rights.  To  this  deed,  for  their  better  protection,  the  Com- 
pany obtained  the  signature  and  seal  of  the  Rajah  himself, 
by  means  which,  of  course,  we  could  never  discover;  but 
they  held  it,  and  always  declared  that  no  portion  of  my  son's 
claim  could  extend  to  these  lands.  Now,  as  they  denied 
that  he  could  succeed  to  what  are  called  the  '  Turban  lands,' 
meaning  the  right  of  sovereignty  —  being  a  British  sub- 
ject —  on  the  one  hand,  and  rejected  his  claim  to  these 
conquered  countries  on  the  other,  —  they  excluded  him 
altogether." 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Stapylton.  mildly,  "I'm  shocked  to 
interrupt  you,  but  I  am  forced  to  ask,  what  is  the  intimate 


136  BARRINGTON. 

bearing  of  all  this  upon  me,  or  on  your  position  towards 
me?" 

"Have  a  little  patience,  sir,  and  suffer  me  to  proceed.  If 
it  should  turn  out  that  this  document  —  I  mean  that  which 
bears  the  signature  and  seal  of  the  Rajah  —  should  be  a 
forgery;  if,  I  say,  it  could  be  shown  that  what  the  India 
Board  have  long  relied  on  to  sustain  their  case  and  corrob- 
orate their  own  view  could  be  proved  false,  a  great  point 
would  be  gained  towards  the  establishment  of  our  claim." 

"Doubtless,"  said  Stapyltou,  with  the  half-peevish  indif- 
ference of  one  listening  against  his  will. 

"Well,  there  is  a  good  prospect  of  this,"  said  Barring- 
ton,  boldly.     "Nay,  more,  it  is  a  certainty." 

"Mr.  Barrington,"  said  Stapylton,  drawing  himself 
haughtily  up,  "a  few  hours  ago  this  history  would  have  had 
a  very  great  interest  for  me.  My  hopes  pointed  to  a  very 
close  relationship  wdth  your  family ;  the  last  hour  has  sutticed 
to  dispel  those  hopes.  Your  granddaughter  has  rejected  me 
so  decidedly  that  I  cannot  presume  to  suppose  a  change  in 
her  opinion  possible.  Let  me  not,  then,  obtain  any  share 
in  your  confidence  to  which  I  have  no  right  whatever." 

"What  I  am  about  to  say  will  have  more  interest  for  you, 
sir,"  continued  Barrington.  "I  am  about  to  meution  a 
name  that  you  will  recognize,  — the  Moonshee,  Ali  Gohur." 

Stapylton  started,  and  dropped  the  cigar  he  was  smoking. 
To  take  out  another  and  light  it,  however,  sufficed  to  employ 
him,  as  he  murmured  between  his  teeth,  "Go  on." 

"This  man  says  —  "  continued  Barrington. 

"Said,  perhaps,  if  you  like,"  broke  in  Stapylton,  "for  he 
died  some  months  ago." 

"No;  he  is  alive  at  this  hour.  He  was  on  board  the 
Indiaman  that  was  run  down  by  the  transport.  He  was 
saved  and  carried  on  board  the  '  Regulus  '  by  the  intrepidity 
of  young  Dill.  He  is  now  recovering  rapidly  from  the 
injuries  he  received,  and  at  the  date  of  the  letter  which  I 
hold  here,  was  able  to  be  in  daily  communication  with 
Colonel  Hunter,  who  is  the  writer  of  this." 

"  I  wish  the  gallant  Colonel  honester  company.  Are  you 
aware,  Mr.  Barrington,  that  you  are  speaking  of  one  of  the 
greatest  rascals  of  a  country  not  famed  for  its  integrity?" 


STORMS.  137 

"He  lays  no  claim  to  such  for  the  past;  but  he  would 
seem  desirous  to  make  some  reparation  for  a  long  course  of 
iniquity." 

••  Charmed  for  his  sake,  and  that  of  his  well-wishers,  if 
he  have  any.  But,  once  again,  sir,  and  at  all  the  risk  of 
appearing  very  impatient,  what  concern  has  all  this  for 
me  ?  " 

"A  great  deal,  sir.  The  Moonshee  declares  that  he  has 
been  for  years  back  in  close  correspondence  with  a  man  we 
long  since  believed  dead,  and  that  this  man  was  known  to 
have  communicated  constantly  with  the  law  advisers  of  the 
India  Board  in  a  manner  adverse  to  us,  he  being  none  other 
than  the  son  of  the  notorious  Sam  Edwardes,  whom  he 
always  addressed  under  cover  to  Captain  Horace  Stapylton, 
Prince's  Hussars." 

"This  is  —  strange  enough,  when  one  thinks  of  the  quar- 
ter it  comes  from  —  perfectly  true.  I  came  to  know 
Edwardes  when  on  my  voyage  home,  invalided.  He  took 
immense  trouble  about  me,  nursed  and  tended  me,  and,  in 
return,  asked  as  a  favor  to  have  some  letters  he  was  expect- 
ing addressed  to  my  care.  I  neither  knew  who  he  was,  nor 
cared.  He  got  his  letters,  and  I  suppose  read  them ;  but  of 
their  contents,  I,  it  is  needless  to  say,  know  nothing.  I 
am  speaking  of  a  dozen  years  ago,  or,  at  least,  eight  or  ten, 
for  since  that  time  I  have  never  heard  of  either  Edwardes  or 
his  friend." 

''He  tells  a  different  story.  He  asserts  that  to  his  letters, 
forwarded  to  the  same  address  up  to  the  period  of  last 
March,  he  regularly  received  replies;  but  at  last  finding 
that  the  writer  was  disposed  to  get  rid  of  him,  he  obtained 
means  to  circulate  a  report  of  his  death,  and  sailed  for 
Europe  to  prefer  his  claims,  whatever  they  be,  in  person." 

"And  if  every  word  of  this  were  true,  Mr.  Barrington, 
which  I  don't  suspect  it  is,  how,  in  the  name  of  common 
sense,  does  it  concern  me?  I  don't  suppose  I  ever  took  my 
own  letters  at  a  post-office  twice  in  my  life.  My  servant, 
who  has  lived  with  me  fourteen  years,  may,  for  aught  I 
know,  have  been  bribed  to  abstract  these  letters  on  their 
arrival ;  they  would  be  easily  recognized  by  the  verj-  super- 
scription.    This  is  one  way  the  thing  might  have  been  done. 


138  BARRINGTON. 

There   may   have   been  fifty   more,    for   aught  I  know   or 
care." 

"But  you  don't  deny  that  you  knew  PLdwardes,  and  had  a 
close  intimacy  with  him?  —  a  circumstance  which  you  never 
revealed  to  Withering  or  myself." 

"It  is  not  at  all  improbable  I  may  have  known  half  a 
dozen  of  that  name.  It  is  by  no  means  an  uncommon  one, 
not  to  say  that  1  have  a  singularly  infelicitous  memory  for 
people's  names.  But  for  the  last  time,  sir,  I  must  protest 
against  this  conversation  going  any  further.  You  have 
taken  upon  you,  I  would  hope  without  intending  it,  the  tone 
of  a  French  Juge  d' Instruction  in  the  interrogation  of  a 
prisoner.  You  have  questioned  and  cross-questioned  me, 
asking  how  I  can  account  for  this,  or  explain  that.  Now, 
I  am  read}'  to  concede  a  great  deal  to  your  position  as  my 
host,  and  to  your  years,  but  really  I  must  entreat  of  you 
not  to  push  my  deference  for  these  bej'ond  the  limits  of  the 
respect  I  owe  myself.  Y"ou  very  properly  warned  me  at  the 
opening  of  this  conversation  that  it  ought  not  to  have  the 
sanction  of  your  roof-tree.  I  have  only  to  beg  that  if  it  is 
to  go  any  further,  that  it  be  conducted  in  such  a  shape  as  is 
usual  between  gentlemen  who  have  an  explanation  to  ask, 
or  a  satisfaction  to  demand." 

There  was  consummate  craft  in  giving  the  discussion  this 
turn.  Stapylton  well  knew  the  nature  of  the  man  he  was 
addressing,  and  that  after  the  passing  allusion  to  his  char- 
acter as  a  host,  he  only  needed  to  hint  at  the  possibility  of  a 
meeting  to  recall  him  to  a  degree  of  respect  only  short  of 
deference  for  his  opponent. 

"I  defer  to  j'ou  at  once,  INIajor  Stapylton,"  said  the  old 
man,  with  a  bland  courtesy,  as  he  uncovered  and  bowed. 
"There  was  a  time  when  I  should  scarcely  have  required  the 
admonition  you  have  given  me." 

"I  am  glad  to  perceive  that  you  understand  me  so 
readily,"  said  Stapylton,  who  could  scarcely  repress  the 
joy  he  felt  at  the  success  of  his  diversion;  "and  that  noth- 
ing may  mar  our  future  understanding,  this  is  my  address 
in  London,  where  1  shall  wait  your  orders  for  a  week." 

Though  the  stroke  was  shrewdly  intended,  and  meant  to 
thi-ow  upon  Barrington  all  the  onus  of  the  provocation,  the 


STORMS.  139 

Major  little  suspected  that  it  was  the  one  solitary  subject 
of  which  his  oppouent  was  a  master.  On  the  "duello" 
Barriugton  was  an  authority  beyond  appeal,  and  no  subtlety, 
however  well  contrived,  could  embarrass  or  involve  him. 

"I  have  no  satisfaction  to  claim  at  your  hands,  Major 
Stapylton,"  said  he,  calmly.  "My  friend,  Mr.  Withering, 
when  he  sent  me  these  letters,  knew  you  were  my  guest,  and 
he  said,  '  Read  them  to  Major  Stapylton.  Let  him  know 
what  is  said  of  him,  and  who  says  it.'  " 

"And,  perhaps,  you  ought  to  add,  sir,  who  gives  it  the 
sanction  of  his  belief,"  broke  in  Stapylton,  angrily.  "You 
never  took  the  trouble  to  recite  these  charges  till  they 
obtained  your  credence." 

"You  have  said  nothing  to  disprove  them,"  said  the  old 
man,  quickly. 

"That  is  enough,  — quite  enough,  sir;  we  understand  each 
other  perfectly.  You  allege  certain  things  against  me  as 
injuries  done  you,  and  you  wait  for  me  to  resent  the  impu- 
tation. I  '11  not  balk  you,  be  assured  of  it.  The  address  I 
have  given  you  in  London  will  enable  you  to  communicate 
with  me  when  you  arrive  there;  for  I  presume  this  matter 
had  better  be  settled  in  France  or  Holland." 

"I  think  so,"  said  Barrington,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
thoroughly  at  his  ease. 

"I  need  not  say,  Mr.  Barrington,  the  regret  it  gives  me 
that  it  was  not  one  of  my  detractors  himself,  and  not  their 
dupe,  that  should  occupy  this  place." 

"The  dupe,  sir,  is  very  much  at  your  service." 

"Till  we  meet  again,"  said  Stapylton,  raising  his  hat  as 
he  turned  away.  In  his  haste  and  the  confusion  of  the 
moment,  he  took  the  path  that  led  towards  the  cottage;  nor 
did  he  discover  his  mistake  till  he  heard  Barrington's  voice 
calling  out  to  Darby,  — 

"Get  the  boat  ready  to  take  Major  Stapylton  to 
Inistioge." 

"You  forget  none  of  the  precepts  of  hospitality,"  said 
Stapylton,  wheeling  hastily  around,  and  directing  his  steps 
towards  the  river. 

Barrington  looked  after  him  as  he  went,  and  probably 
iu  his  long  and  varied  life,  crossed  with  many  a  care  and 


140  BARRINGTON. 

many  troubles,  he  bad  never  felt  the  pain  of  such  severe 
self-reproucb  as  in  that  moment.  To  see  bis  guest,  the  man 
vrbo  bad  sat  at  bis  board  and  eaten  bis  salt,  going  out  into 
tbe  dreary  uigbt  witbout  one  bospitable  effort  to  detain  bim, 
witbout  a  pledge  to  bis  bealtb,  witbout  a  warm  sbake  of  bis 
band,  or  one  bearty  wisb  for  bis  return. 

''Dear,  dear!"  muttered  be,  to  bimself,  "wbat  is  tbe 
world  come  to!  1  tbougbt  I  bad  no  more  experiences  to 
learn  of  suffering;  but  bere  is  a  new  one.  "Wbo  would  bave 
tbougbt  to  see  the  day  that  Peter  Barriugton  would  treat 
bis  guest  this  fashion?" 

""Are  you  coming  in  to  tea,  grandpapa?  "  cried  Josephine, 
from  the  garden. 

"Here  I  am,  my  dear!  " 

"  And  your  guest,  Peter,  wbat  has  become  of  him  ?  "  said 
Dinah. 

"He  had  some  very  urgent  business  at  Kilkenny;  some- 
thing that  could  not  admit  of  delay,  I  opine." 

"But  you  have  not  let  bim  go  without  bis  letters,  surely. 
Here  are  all  these  formidable-looking  despatches,  on  his 
Majesty's  service,  on  the  chimney-piece." 

"How  forgetful  of  me!  "  cried  be,  as,  snatching  them  up, 
be  hastened  down  to  the  river-side.  The  boat,  however, 
had  just  gone;  and  although  he  shouted  and  called  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  no  answer  came,  and  be  turned  back  at 
last,  vexed  and  disappointed. 

"I  shall  have  to  start  for  Dublin  to-morrow,  Dinah,"  said 
he,  as  he  walked  thoughtfully  up  and  down  tbe  room.  "I 
must  have  Witbering's  advice  on  these  letters.  There  are 
very  pressing  matters  to  be  thought  of  here,  and  I  can  take 
Major  Stapylton's  despatches  with  me.  I  am  certain  to 
bear  of  him  somewhere." 

Miss  Barrington  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  bim,  and 
watched  him  narrowly.  She  was  a  keen  detector  of 
motives,  and  she  scanned  her  brother's  face  with  no  com- 
mon keenness,  and  yet  she  could  see  nothing  beyond  tbe 
preoccupation  she  bad  often  seen.  There  was  no  impa- 
tience, no  anxiety.  A  shade  more  thoughtful,  perhaps, 
and  even  that  passed  off,  as  he  sat  down  to  his  tea,  and 
asked  Fifine  wbat  commissions  she  had  for  the  capital. 


STORMS.  141 

"You  will  leave  by  the  evening  mail,  I  suppose?"  said 
Miss  Barrington. 

"No,  Dinah,  night  travelling  wearies  me.  I  will  take  the 
coach  as  it  passes  the  gate  to-morrow  at  five;  this  will  bring 
me  in  time  to  catch  Withering  at  his  late  dinner,  and  a 
pleasanter  way  to  finish  a  day's  travel  no  man  need  ask 
for." 

Nothing  could  be  more  easily  spoken  than  these  words, 
and  Miss  Dinah  felt  reassured  by  them,  and  left  the  room  to 
give  some  orders  about  his  journey. 

"Fifine,  darling,"  said  Barrington,  after  a  pause,  "do 
you  like  your  life  here?  " 

"Of  course  I  do,  grandpapa.  How  could  I  wish  for  one 
more  happy  ?  " 

"But  it  is  somewhat  dull  for  one  so  young, — somewhat 
solitary  for  a  fair,  bright  creature,  who  might  reasonably 
enough  care  for  pleasure  and  the  world." 

"To  me  it  is  a  round  of  gayety,  grandpapa;  so  that  I 
almost  felt  inclined  yesterday  to  wish  for  some  quiet  davs 
with  aunt  and  yourself,  —  some  of  those  dreamy  days  like 
what  we  had  in  Germany." 

"  I  fear  me  much,  darling,  that  I  contribute  but  little  to 
the  pleasure.  My  head  is  so  full  of  one  care  or  another,  I 
am  but  sorry  company,  Fifine." 

"  If  you  only  knew  how  dull  we  are  without  you!  How 
heavily  the  day  drags  on  even  with  the  occupations  you  take 
no  share  in  ;  how  we  miss  your  steps  on  the  stairs  and  your 
voice  in  the  garden,  and  that  merry  laugh  that  sets  ourselves 
a-laughing  just  by  its  own  ring." 

"And  you  would  miss  me,  then?"  said  he,  as  he  pushed 
the  hair  from  her  temples,  and  stared  steadfastly  at  her 
face,  —  "you  would  miss  me?" 

"It  would  only  be  half  life  without  you,"  cried  she, 
passionately. 

"  So  much  the  worse,  —  so  much  the  worse !  "  muttered 
he;  and  he  turned  away,  and  drew  his  hand  across  his 
eyes.  "  This  life  of  ours,  Fifine,  is  a  huge  battle-field  ;  and 
though  the  comrades  fall  fast  around  him,  the  brave  soldier 
will  fight  on  to  the  last."    • 

"  You  don't  want  a  dress-coat,  brother  Peter,  to  dine 


142  BAKRINGTON. 

with  Withering,  so  I  have  just  put  up  what  will  serve  you 
for  three  days,  or  four,  at  furthest,"  said  Diuah,  euteriug. 
"  What  will  be  the  extent  of  your  stay?" 

"Let  me  have  a  black  coat,  Diuah;  there's  no  saying 
what  great  man  may  not  ask  for  my  company ;  and  it  might 
be  a  week  before  I  get  back  again.  " 

"There's  no  necessity  it  should  be  anything  of  the  kind, 
Peter;  and  with  your  habits  an  hotel  life  is  scarcely  an 
economy.  Come,  Fitine,  get  to  bed,  child.  You  '11  have 
to  be  up  at  daybreak.  Your  grandpapa  won't  think  his 
coffee  drinkable,  if  it  is  not  made  by  your  hands." 

And  with  this  remark,  beautifully  balanced  between  a 
reproof  and  a  flattery,  she  proceeded  to  blow  out  the  candles, 
which  was  her  accustomed  mode  of  sending  her  company  to 
their  rooms. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   OLD    LEAVEN. 

Withering  arrived  at  bis  own  door  just  as  Barrington 
drove  up  to  it.  "I  knew  my  letter  would  bring  you  up  to 
town,  Barrington,"  said  be ;  "  and  I  was  so  sure  of  it  tbat 
I  ordered  a  saddle  of  mutton  for  your  dinner,  and  refused 
an  invitation  to  tbe  Cbancellor's." 

"And  quite  rigbt  too.  I  am  far  better  company,  Tom. 
Are  we  to  be  all  alone?" 

"  All  alone." 

"Tbat  was  exactly  wbat  I  wanted.  Now,  as  I  need  a 
long  evening  with  you,  the  sooner  they  serve  the  soup  the 
better ;  and  be  sure  you  give  your  orders  that  nobody  be 
admitted." 

If  Mr.  TVithering's  venerable  butler,  an  official  long 
versed  in  the  mysteries  of  his  office,  were  to  have  been 
questioned  on  the  subject,  it  is  not  improbable  he  would 
have  declared  that  he  never  assisted  at  a  pleasanter  tete-d 
tete  than  that  day's  dinner.  They  enjoyed  their  good  dinner 
and  their  good  wine  like  men  who  bring  to  the  enjoyment 
a  ripe  experience  of  such  pleasures,  and  they  talked  with 
the  rare  zest  of  good  talkers  and  old  friends. 

"  We  are  in  favor  with  Nicholas,"  said  Withering,  as 
the  butler  withdrew,  and  left  them  alone,  "or  he  would 
never  have  given  us  that  bottle  of  port.  Do  you  mark, 
Barrington,  it's  the  green  seal  that  .John  Bushe  begged  so 
hard  for  one  night,  and  all  unsuccessfully." 

"  It  is  rare  stuff !  "  said  Barrington,  looking  at  it  between 
him  and  the  light. 

"And  it  was  that  story  of  yours  of  tlie  Kerry  election 
that  won  it.  The  old  fellow  had  to  rush  out  of  the  room 
to  have  his  laugh  out." 


144  BARRINGTON. 

"  Do  you  know,  Tom,"  said  Barrington,  as  be  sipped 
his  wine,  "  I  believe,  iu  auotber  geueratiou,  nobody  will 
laugh  at  all.  Since  you  and  1  were  boys,  the  world  has 
taken  a  very  serious  turn.  Not  that  it  is  much  wiser, 
or  better,  or  more  moral,  or  more  cultivated,  but  it  is 
graver.  The  old  jollity  would  be  now  set  down  simply 
for  vulgarity,  aud  with  many  people  a  joke  is  only  short  of 
an  insult." 

"  Shall  1  tell  you  why,  Peter?  We  got  our  reputation  for 
wit,  just  as  we  made  our  name  for  manufacture,  and  there 
sprung  up  a  mass  of  impostors  in  consequence,  —  fellows 
who  made  poor  jokes  and  rotten  calicoes,  that  so  disgusted 
the  world  that  people  have  gone  to  France  for  their  fun,  aud 
to  Germany  for  their  furniture.  That  is,  to  my  taking,  the 
reason  of  all  this  social  reaction." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  Tom.  Old  Joe  Millers  are  not 
unlike  cloth  made  out  of  devil's  dust.  One  can't  expect 
much  wear  out  of  either." 

"  We  must  secure  another  bottle  from  that  bin  before 
Nicholas  changes  his  mind,"  said  Withering,  rising  to  ring 
the  bell. 

"No,  Tom,  not  for  me.  I  want  all  the  calm  and  all  the 
judgment  I  can  muster,  and  don't  ask  me  to  take  more 
wine.     I  have  much  to  say  to  you." 

"  Of  course  you  have.  I  knew  well  that  packet  of  letters 
would  bring  you  up  to  town  ;  but  you  have  had  scarcely 
time  to  read  them." 

"Very  hurriedly,  I  confess.  They  reached  me  yesterday 
afternoon  ;  and  when  I  had  run  my  e3'es  hastily  over  them, 
I  said,  '  Stap3'lton  must  see  this  at  once.'  The  man  was  my 
guest,  —  he  was  under  my  roof,  —  there  could  not  be  a  ques- 
tion about  how  to  deal  with  him.  He  was  out,  however, 
when  the  packet  reached  my  hands ;  and  while  the  pony  was 
being  harnessed,  I  took  another  look  over  that  letter  from 
Colonel  Hunter.  It  shocked  me,  Tom,  I  confess  ;  because 
there  flashed  upon  me  quite  suddenly  the  recollection  of  the 
promptitude  with  which  the  India  Board  at  home  here  were 
provided  with  an  answer  to  each  demand  we  made.  It  was 
not  merely  that  when  we  advanced  a  step  they  met  us ;  but 
■we  could  scarcely  meditate  a  move  that  they  were  not  iu 
activity  to  repel  it." 


THE   OLD   LEAVEN.  145 

"I  saw  that,  too,  and  was  struck  by  it,"  said  "Withering. 
"True  enough,  Tom.  I  remember  a  remark  of  yours  one 
day.  '  These  people,'  said  you,  '  have  our  range  so  accu- 
rately, one  would  suspect  they  had  stepped  the  ground.' " 
The  lawyer  smiled  at  the  compliment  to  his  acuteuess,  and 
the  other  went  on  :  "  As  I  read  further,  I  thought  Stapyltou 
had  been  betrayed,  —  his  correspondent  in  India  had  shown 
his  letters.  '  Our  enemies,'  said  I,  '  have  seen  our  de- 
spatches, and  are  playing  with  our  cards  on  the  table.'  No 
thought  of  distrust,  —  not  a  suspicion  against  his  loyalty  had 
ever  crossed  me  till  I  met  him.  I  came  unexpectedly  upon 
him,  however,  before  the  door,  and  there  was  a  ring  and 
resonance  in  his  voice  as  I  came  up  that  startled  me ! 
Passion  forgets  to  shut  the  door  sometimes,  and  one  can  see 
in  an  angry  mind  what  you  never  suspected  in  the  calm  one. 
I  took  him  up  at  once,  without  suffering  him  to  recover  his 
composure,  and  read  him  a  part  of  Hunter's  letter.  He  was 
ready  enough  with  his  reply ;  he  knew  the  Moonshee  by 
reputation  as  a  man  of  the  worst  character,  but  had  suffered 
him  to  address  certain  letters  under  cover  to  him,  as  a  con- 
venience to  the  person  they  were  meant  for,  and  who  was  no 
other  than  the  son  of  the  notorious  Sam  Edwardes.  '  Whom 
you  have  known  all  this  while,'  said  I,  '  without  ever 
acknowledging  to  us?' 

"  'Whom  I  did  know  some  years  back,'  replied  he,  'but 
never  thought  of  connecting  with  the  name  of  Colonel  Bar- 
rington's  enemy.'  All  this  was  possible  enough,  Tom; 
besides,  his  manner  was  frank  and  open  in  the  extreme.  It 
was  only  at  last,  as  I  dwelt,  what  he  deemed  too  pertina- 
ciously, on  this  point,  that  he  suddenly  lost  control  of  him- 
self, and  said,  '  I  will  have  no  more  of  this '  —  or,  '  This 
must  go  no  further'  —  or  some  words  to  that  effect." 

"Ha!  the  probe  had  touched  the  sore  spot,  eh?"  cried 
Withering.     "  Go  on!  " 

"  '  And  if  you  desire  further  explanations  from  me,  you 
must  ask  for  them  at  the  price  men  pay  for  inflicting  un- 
merited insult.' " 

"  Cleverly  turned,  cleverly  done,"  said  Withering ;  "but 
you  were  not  to  be  deceived  and  drawn  off  by  that  feint, 
eh?" 

VOL.    II.  —  10 


14G  BARRINGTON. 

"  Feint  or  not,  it  succeeded,  Tom.  He  made  me  feel 
that  I  bad  injured  him ;  and  as  he  would  not  accept  of  my 
excuses,  —  as,  iu  fact,  he  did  not  give  me  time  to  make 
them  —  " 

"  He  got  you  into  a  quarrel,  isn't  that  the  truth?"  asked 
Withering,  hotly. 

"Come,  come,  Tom,  be  reasonable;  he  had  perfect  right 
on  his  side.  There  was  what  he  felt  as  a  very  grave  impu- 
tation upon  him ;  that  is,  I  had  made  a  charge,  and  his 
explanation  had  not  satisiied  me,  —  or,  at  all  events,  I  had 
not  said  I  was  satisfied,  —  and  we  each  of  us,  1  take  it,  were 
somewhat  warmer  than  we  need  have  been." 

"And  you  are  going  to  meet  him, —going  to  fight  a 
duel?" 

"  Well,  if  I  am,  it  will  not  be  the  first  time." 

"And  can  you  tell  for  what?  Will  you  be  able  to  make 
any  man  of  common  intelligence  understand  for  what  you 
are  going  out?  " 

"  I  hope  so.  I  have  the  man  in  my  eye.  No,  no,  don't 
make  a  wry  face,  Tom.  It's  another  old  friend  I  was 
thinking  of  to  help  me  through  this  affair,  and  I  sincerely 
trust  he  will  not  be  so  hard  to  instruct  as  you  imagine." 

"How  old  are  you,  Barrington?" 

"  Dinah  saj's  eighty-one ;  but  I  suspect  she  cheats  me.  I 
think  I  am  eighty-three." 

"And  is  it  at  eight^^-three  that  men  fight  duels?" 

*'  Not  if  they  can  help  it,  Tom,  certainly.  I  have  never 
been  out  since  I  shot  Tom  Connelly  in  tlie  knee,  which 
was  a  matter  of  forty  years  ago,  and  I  had  good  hopes  it 
was  to  be  my  last  exploit  of  this  kind.  But  what  is  to  be 
done  if  a  man  tells  you  that  your  age  is  j'our  protection ; 
that  if  it  had  not  been  for  j'our  white  hairs  and  your  shaking 
ankles,  that  he  'd  have  resented  your  conduct  or  your  words 
to  him?  Faith,  I  think  it  puts  a  fellow  on  his  mettle  to  show 
that  his  heart  is  all  right,  though  his  hand  may  tremble." 

"I'll  not  take  any  share  in  such  a  folly.  I  tell  you, 
Barrington,  the  world  for  whom  you  are  doing  this  will  be 
the  very  first  to  scout  its  absurdity.  .lust  remember  for  a 
moment  we  are  not  living  in  the  old  days  before  the  Union, 
and  we  have  not  the  right,  if  we  had  the  power,  to  throw 
our  age  back  into  the  barbarism  it  has  escaped  from." 


THE   OLD  LEAVEN.  147 

"  Barbarism  !  The  days  of  poor  Yelvertou,  and  Pousonb}', 
and  Harry  Grattan,  and  Parsons,  and  Ned  Lysagbt,  barbar- 
ism !  Ah !  my  dear  Tom,  I  wish  we  had  a  few  of  such  bar- 
barians here  now,  and  I  'd  ask  for  another  bottle  or  two  of 
that  port." 

"I'll  not  give  it  a  milder  word;  and  what's  more,  I'll 
not  suffer  you  to  tarnish  a  time-honored  name  by  a  folly 
which  even  a  boy  would  be  blamed  for.  My  dear  old  friend, 
just  grant  me  a  little  patience." 

"This  is  cool,  certainly,"  said  Barrington,  laughing. 
"  You  have  said  all  manner  of  outrageous  things  to  me  for 
half  an  hour  unopposed,  and  now  you  cry  have  patience." 

"  Give  me  3'our  honor  now  that  this  shall  not  go  further." 

"  I  cannot,  Tom,  —  I  assure  you,  I  cannot." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  you  cannot'?  '  cried  Withering, 
angrily. 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  said.  If  you  had  accepted  a  man's 
brief,  Tom  Withering,  there  is  a  professional  etiquette  which 
would  prevent  your  giving  it  up  and  abandoning  him ;  and 
so  there  are  situations  between  men  of  the  world  which  claim 
exactly  as  rigid  an  observance.  I  told  Stapylton  I  would 
be  at  his  orders,  and  I  mean  to  keep  my  word." 

"  Not  if  you  had  no  right  to  pledge  it;  not  if  I  can  prove 
to  you  that  this  quarrel  was  a  mere  got-up  altercation  to 
turn  you  from  an  inquiry  which  this  man  dare  not  face." 

"■  This  is  too  subtle  for  me,  Withering,  —  far  too  subtle." 

"  No  such  thing,  Barrington ;  but  I  will  make  it  plainer. 
How  if  the  man  you  are  going  to  meet  had  no  right  to  the 
name  he  bears  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  care  for  his  name?  " 

' '  Don't  you  care  for  the  falsehood  by  which  he  has  as- 
sumed one  that  is  not  his  own?" 

"  I  may  be  sorry  that  he  is  not  more  clean-handed ;  but 
I  tell  you  again,  Tom,  they  never  indulged  such  punc- 
tilios in  our  young  days,  and  I  'm  too  old  to  go  to  school 
again ! " 

"  I  declare,  Barrington,  you  provoke  me,"  said  the 
lawyer,  rising,  and  pacing  the  room  with  hasty  strides. 
"  After  years  and  years  of  .weary  toil,  almost  disheartened 
by  defeat  and  failure,  we  at  last  see  the  outline  of  land; 


148  BARRINGTON. 

a  few  more  clays  —  or  it  may  be  hours  —  of  perseverance 
may  accomplish  our  task.  Since  I  arose  this  morning  I 
have  learned  more  of  our  case,  seen  my  way  more  clearly 
through  matters  which  have  long  puzzled  me,  than  the  cost 
of  years  has  taught  me.  I  have  passed  four  hours  with  one 
who  would  give  his  life  to  serve  you,  l)ut  whose  name  I  was 
not  at  liberty  to  divulge,  save  in  the  last  necessity,  and  the 
reasons  for  which  reserve  I  heartily  concur  in ;  and  now,  by 
a  rash  and  foolish  altercation,  you  would  jeopardy  every- 
thing.    Do  you  wonder  if  I  lose  temper?  " 

"You  have  got  me  into  such  a  state  of  bewilderment, 
Tom,  that  I  don't  know  what  I  am  asked  to  agree  to.  But 
who  is  your  friend,  —  is  n't  it  a  woman?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  woman." 

"I'd  have  bet  five  pounds  it  was!  When  as  sharp  a 
fellow  as  you  takes  the  wrong  line  of  country,  it 's  generally 
a  woman  is  leading  the  way  over  the  fences." 

"This  time  your  clever  theory  is  at  fault." 

"Well,  who  is  it?  Out  with  him,  Tom.  I  have  not 
so  many  stanch  friends  in  the  world  that  I  can  afford  to 
ignore  them." 

"  I  will  tell  you  his  name  on  one  condition." 

"  I  agree.     What  is  the  condition?  " 

"  It  is  this:  that  when  you  hear  it  you  will  dismiss  from 
your  mind  —  though  it  be  only  for  a  brief  space  —  all  the 
prejudices  that  years  may  have  heaped  against  him,  and 
suffer  me  to  show  you  that  yoii^  with  all  your  belief  in  your 
own  fairness,  are  not  just;  and  with  a  firm  conviction  in 
your  own  generosity,  might  be  more  generous.  There  's  my 
condition !  " 

"  Well,  it  must  be  owned  I  am  going  to  pay  pretty 
smartly  for  my  information,"  said  Barrington,  laughing. 
"  And  if  you  are  about  to  preach  to  me,  it  will  not  be  a 
'  charity '  sermon ;  but,  as  I  said  before,  I  agree  to  every- 
thing." 

Withering  stopped  his  walk  and  resumed  it  again.  It 
was  evident  he  had  not  satisfied  himself  how  he  should 
proceed,  and  he  looked  agitated  and  undecided.  "  Bar- 
rington," said  he,  at  last,  "you  have  had  about  as  many 
reverses  in  life  as  most  men,  and  must  have  met  with  fully 


THE   OLD   LEAVEH  149 

your  share  of  ingratitude  and  its  treatment.  Do  you  feel, 
now,  in  looking  back,  that  there  are  certain  fellows  you 
cannot  forgive?" 

''One  or  two,  perhaps,  push  me  harder  than  the  rest,-; 
but  if  I  have  no  gout  flying  about  me,  I  don't  think  I  bear 
them  any  malice." 

'•  Well,  you  have  no  goutj^  symptoms  now,  I  take  it?  " 

"  Never  felt  better  for  the  last  twenty  years." 

"That  is  as  it  should  be;  for  I  want  to  talk  to  you  of 
a  man  who,  in  all  our  friendship,  you  have  never  mentioned 
to  me,  but  whose  name  I  know  will  open  an  old  wound,  — 
Ormsby   Conj-ers." 

Barrington  laid  down  the  glass  he  was  lifting  to  his  lips, 
and  covered  his  face  with  both  his  hands,  nor  for  some 
moments  did  he  speak  a  word.  "  "Withering,"  said  he,  and 
his  voice  trembled  as  he  spoke,  "  even  your  friendship  has 
scarcely  the  right  to  go  this  far.  The  injury  the  man  you 
speak  of  did  me  meets  me  every  morning  as  I  open  m}'  eyes, 
and  my  first  prayer  each  day  is  that  I  may  forgive  him,  for 
every  now  and  then,  as  my  lone  lot  iu  life  comes  strongly 
before  me,  I  have  need  to  pray  for  this ;  but  I  have  succeeded 
at  last, — I  have  forgiven  him  from  my  heart;  but,  dear 
friend,  let  us  not  talk  of  what  tears  open  wounds  that  bleed 
afresh  at  a  touch.     I  beseech  you,  let  all  that  be  a  bygone." 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  do,  Barrington ;  for  it  is  not  to 
me  3'ou  must  acknowledge  you  have  forgiven  this  man,  — 
you  must  tell  it  to  himself." 

'•  That  is  not  needed,  Tom.  Thousands  of  long  miles 
separate  us,  and  will  in  all  likelihood  separate  us  to  the 
last.  What  does  he  want  with  my  forgiveness,  which  is  less 
a  question  between  him  and  me  than  between  me  and 
my  own  heart?" 

"And  yet  it  is  what  he  most  desires  on  earth;  he  told  me 
so  within  an  hour!  " 

" Told  you  so,  —  and  within  an  hour? " 

"Yes,  Barrington,  he  is  here.  Xot  in  the  house,"  added 
he,  hastil}',  for  the  suddenness  of  the  announcement  had 
startled  the  old  man,  and  agitated  him  greatly.  "Be  calm, 
my  dear  friend,"  said  Withering,  laying  a  hand  on  the 
other's  shoulder.     "He  who  is  now  come  to  claim  your  for- 


150  BARRINGTON. 

giveness  has  never  injured  you  to  the  extent  you  believe. 
He  asks  it  as  the  last  tribute  to  one  he  loved  only  less 
than  you  loved  him.  lie  has  told  me  everything;  never 
sparing  himself,  nor  seeking  by  any  subtlety  to  excuse  a 
particle  of  his  conduct.  Let  me  tell  you  that  story  as  I 
heard  it.  It  will  be  some  solace  to  you  to  know  that  your 
noble-hearted  son  inspired  a  friendship  which,  after  the 
long  lapse  of  years,  extracts  such  an  atonement  as  one 
act  of  disloyalty  to  it  could  demand.  This  was  Ormsby 
Conyers's  one  and  only  treason  to  the  love  that  bound  them. 
Listen  to  it! " 

Barrington  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not;  so  he  nodded  an 
assent,  and  Withering  continued.  His  story  was  that  which 
the  reader  has  already  heard  from  the  lips  of  Conyers  him- 
self, and  the  old  lawyer  told  it  well.  If  he  did  not  attempt 
to  extenuate  the  offence  and  wrong  of  Conyers,  he  showed 
the  power  and  strength  of  an  affection  which  could  make  one 
of  the  haughtiest  of  men  come  forward  to  accuse  himself, 
and  at  every  cost  of  humiliation  vindicate  the  noble  nature 
of  his  friend. 

"And  why  not  have  avowed  all  this  before?  —  why  not 
have  spared  himself  years  of  self-accusing,  and  me  years  of 
aggravated  misery?"  cried  Barrington. 

"He  did  make  the  attempt.  He  came  to  England  about 
eighteen  years  ago,  and  his  first  care  was  to  write  to  you. 
He  asked  to  be  allowed  to  see  you,  and  sent  j^ou  at  the  same 
time  an  admission  that  he  had  injured  you,  and  was  come 
to  seek  your  forgiveness." 

"That's  true,  Tom;  all  strictly  true.  I  remember  all 
about  it.  His  letter  was  such  a  one  as  an  enemy  might 
have  used  to  crush  him.  My  own  temper  at  the  time  was 
not  to  be  trusted  too  far;  sorrow  was  making  me  cruel,  and 
might  make  me  vindictive;  so  I  sent  it  back  to  him,  and 
hinted  it  was  safer  in  his  hands  than  viine.'" 

"And  he  has  never  forgotten  your  generosity.  He  said, 
*  It  was  what  well  became  the  father  of  George  Barrington. '  " 

"If  he  is  here  in  this  city,  now,  let  me  see  him.  Remem- 
ber, Withering,  when  a  man  comes  to  my  age  his  time  is 
short.     Cannot  we  go  to  him  at  once?  " 

"Not  feeling  certain  of  your  coming  up  to  town  to-day,  I 


THE   OLD  LEAVEN.  151 

had  arranged  with  Conyers  to  start  for  '  The  Home '  to- 
morrow; we  were  to  await  the  post  hour,  and,  if  no  letter 
came  from  you,  to  leave  at  ten  o'clock.  I  was  to  take  him 
up  at  Elvidge's  Hotel.  What  say  you  if  I  drive  him  down 
to  Reynolds's?     You  stop  there,  I  know." 

''With  all  my  heart,  Tom.  I  am  fully  as  impatient  as  he 
can  be  to  sign  and  seal  our  reconciliation.  Indeed,  I  feel 
myself  already  less  sinned  against  than  sinning;  and  an 
act  of  forgiveness  is  only  an  exchange  of  prisoners  between 
us.  If  you  knew  how  young  I  feel  again  at  all  this.  With- 
ering," said  he,  grasping  his  friend's  hand.  "What  a  happi- 
ness to  know  that  poor  George's  memory  is  so  revered  that 
one  who  has  failed  towards  him  in  fidelity  should  come  to 
expiate  the  wrong  thus  openly!  My  fine  noble-hearted  boy 
deserved  this  tribute!  And  he  told  you  how  they  loved 
each  other;  in  what  a  brotherhood  they  lived;  and  what  a 
glorious  fellow  George  was?  Did  he  tell  you  of  his  gentle- 
ness?—  womanl}'  softness  it  was,  Tom.  A  careless  observer 
might  have  said  there  was  no  stuff  in  him  to  make  a  soldier, 
and  yet  where  was  there  his  equal?  You  heard  what  he 
did  at  Xaghapoor  and  Meerutan,  where  he  held  a  mountain- 
pass  with  three  squadrons  against  a  whole  army  corps,  and 
never  owned  to  being  wounded  till  he  fell  fainting  from  his 
horse  on  the  retreat.  Oh,  let  me  not  speak  of  these  things, 
or  my  heart  will  burst.  I  must  leave  you,  old  friend ;  this 
agitation  will  unfit  me  for  much  that  is  before  me;  let  me 
go,  I  beseech  you,  and  when  you  see  me  to-morrow,  you  '11 
find  I  am  all  myself  again." 

It  was  in  silence  they  grasped  each  other's  hand,  and 
parted. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    IIAl'l'Y    MEETING. 

Barrixgton  scarcely  closed  his  ej-es  that  night  after  he 
had  parted  with  Withering,  so  full  was  he  of  thinking  over 
all  he  had  heard.  "It  was,"  as  he  repeated  to  himself  over 
and  over  again,  "  '  such  glorious  news'  to  hear  that  it  was 
no  long-laid  plot,  no  dark  treachery,  had  brought  poor 
George  to  his  grave,  and  that  the  trusted  friend  had  not 
turned  out  a  secret  enemy.  How  prone  we  are,"  thought 
he,  "to  suffer  our  suspicions  to  grow  into  convictions,  just 
by  the  mere  force  of  time.  Conyers  was  neither  better  nor 
worse  than  scores  of  young  fellows  entering  on  life,  undisci- 
plined in  self-restraint,  and  untutored  by  converse  with  the 
world ;  and  in  his  sorrow  and  repentance  he  is  far  and  away 
above  most  men.  It  was  fine  of  him  to  come  thus,  and 
become  his  own  accuser,  rather  than  suffer  a  shade  of  re- 
proach to  rest  upon  the  fame  of  his  friend.  And  this  repa- 
ration he  would  have  made  years  ago,  but  for  my  impa- 
tience. It  was  I  that  would  not  listen,  —  would  not 
admit  it. 

"I  believe  in  my  heart,  then,  this  confession  has  a  higher 
value  for  me  than  would  the  gain  of  our  great  suit.  It  is 
such  a  testimony  to  my  brave  boy  as  but  one  man  living 
could  offer.  It  is  a  declaration  to  the  world  that  says, 
'  Here  am  I,  high  in  station,  covered  with  dignities  and  rich 
in  rewards ;  yet  there  was  a  man  whose  fate  has  never  inter- 
ested 3'ou,  over  whose  fall  you  never  sorrowed ;  hundreds  of 
times  my  superior.'  What  a  reward  is  this  for  all  my  life 
of  toil  and  struggle,  —  what  a  glorious  victory,  when  the 
battle  looked  so  doubtful !  People  will  see  at  last  it  is  not 
an  old  man's  phantasy;  it  is  not  the  headlong  affection  of 
a  father  for  his  son  has  made  me  pursue  this  reparation  for 
him  here.     There  is  a  witness  '  come  to  judgment,'  who  will 


A   HAPPY  MEETING.  153 

tell  them  what  George  Barringtou  was ;  how  noble  as  a  man, 
how  glorious  as  a  soldier." 

While  the  old  man  revelled  in  the  happiness  of  these 
thoughts,  so  absorbed  was  he  by  them  that  he  utterly  forgot 
the  immediate  object  which  had  occasioned  his  journey,  — 
forgot  Stapylton  and  the  meeting,  and  all  that  had  led  to  it. 
Thus  passed  the  hours  of  the  night;  and  as  the  day  broke, 
he  arose,  impatient  to  actual  feverishness  for  the  coming 
interview.  He  tried  by  some  occupation  to  fill  up  the  time. 
He  sat  down  to  write  to  his  sister  an  account  of  all  Wither- 
ing had  told  him,  leaving  the  rest  to  be  added  after  the 
meeting;  but  he  found,  as  he  read  it  over,  that  after  the 
mention  of  George's  name,  nothing  dropped  from  his  pen 
but  praises  of  him.  It  was  all  about  his  generosity,  his 
open-heartedness,  and  his  bravery.  "This  would  seem 
downright  extravagant,"  said  he,  as  he  crushed  the  paper 
in  his  hand,  "till  she  hears  it  from-  the  lips  of  Conyers 
himself."  He  began  another  letter,  but  somehow  again  he 
glided  into  the  self-same  channel. 

"This  will  never  do,"  said  he;  "there  's  nothing  for  it  but 
a  brisk  walk."  So  saying  he  sallied  out  into  the  deserted 
streets,  for  few  were  about  at  that  early  hour.  Barrington 
turned  his  steps  towards  the  country,  and  soon  gained  one 
of  those  shady  alleys  which  lead  towards  Finglas.  It  was 
a  neighborhood  he  had  once  known  well,  and  a  favorite 
resort  of  those  pleasant  fellows  who  thought  they  compen- 
sated for  a  hard  night  at  Daly's  by  sipping  syllabub  of  a 
morning  on  a  dewy  meadow.  He  once  had  rented  a  little 
cottage  there;  a  fancy  of  poor  George's  it  was,  that  there 
were  some  trout  in  the  stream  beside  it;  and  Barrington 
sti-olled  along  till  he  came  to  a  little  mound,  from  which 
he  could  see  the  place,  sadly  changed  and  dilapidated  since 
he  knew  it.  Instead  of  the  rustic  bridge  that  crossed  the 
river,  a  single  plank  now  spanned  the  stream,  and  in  the 
disorder  and  neglect  of  all  around,  it  was  easy  to  see  it  had 
fallen  to  the  lot  of  a  peasant  to  live  in  it.  As  Barrington 
was  about  to  turn  away,  he  saw  an  old  man  —  unmistakably 
a  gentleman  —  ascending  the  hill,  with  a  short  telescope  in 
his  hand.  As  the  path  was' a  narrow  one,  he  waited,  there- 
fore, for  the  other's   arrival,   before   he  began  to  descend 


154  BARRINGTON. 

himself.  "With  a  politeness  which  in  his  younger  days  Irish 
gentlemen  derived  from  intercourse  with  France,  Barring- 
ton  touched  his  hat  as  he  passed  the  stranger,  and  the  other, 
as  if  encouraged  by  the  show  of  courtesy,  smiled  as  he 
returned  the  salute,  and  said,  — 

"Might  I  take  the  liberty  to  ask  you  if  you  are  acquainted 
with  this  locality?" 

"Few  know  it  better,  or,  at  least,  knew  it  once,"  said 
Barringtou. 

"It  was  the  classic  ground  of  Ireland  in  days  past,"  said 
the  stranger.     "I  have  heard  that  Swift  lived  here." 

"Yes;  but  you  cannot  see  his  house  from  this.  It  was 
nearer  to  Santry,  where  you  see  that  wood  yonder.  There 
was,  however,  a  celebrity  once  inhabited  that  small  cottage 
before  us.     It  was  the  home  of  Parnell." 

"Is  that  Paruell's  cottage?"  asked  the  stranger,  with 
eagerness;  "that  ruined  spot,  yonder?" 

"Yes.  It  was  there  he  Avrote  some  of  his  best  poems.  I 
knew  the  room  well  he  lived  in." 

"How  I  would  like  to  see  it! "  cried  the  other. 

"You  are  an  admirer  of  Parnell,  then?"  said  Barrington, 
with  a  smile  of  courteous  meaning. 

"I  will  own  to  you,  sir,  it  was  less  of  Parnell  I  was  think- 
ing than  of  a  dear  friend  who  once  talked  to  me  of  that  cot- 
tage. He  had  lived  there,  and  cherished  the  memory  of  that 
life  when  far  away  from  it;  and  so  well  had  he  described 
every  walk  and  path  around  it,  each  winding  of  the  river, 
and  every  shady  nook,  that  I  had  hoped  to  recognize  it 
without  a  guide." 

"Ah,  it  is  sadly  changed  of  late.  Your  friend  had  not 
probably  seen  it  for  some  years  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see.  It  was  in  a  memorable  year  he  told  me  he 
lived  there,  — when  some  great  demonstration  was  made  by 
the  Irish  volunteers,  with  the  Bishop  of  Down  at  their  head. 
The  Bishop  dined  there  on  that  day." 

"The  Earl  of  Bristol  dined  that  day  with  me,  there," 
said  Barrington,  pointing  to  the  cottage. 

"May  I  ask  with  whom  I  have  the  honor  to  speak,  sir?" 
said  the  stranger,  bowing. 

"Was  it  George  Barringtou  told  you  this?  "  said  the  old 


A  HAPPY  MEETING.  155 

man,  trembling  with  eagerness:  "was  it  he  who  lived  here? 
I  may  ask,  sir,  for  I  am  his  father!  " 

"And  I  am  Ormsby  Conyers,"  said  the  other;  and  his 
face  became  pale,  and  his  knees  trembled  as  he  said  it. 

"Give  me  your  hand,  Conyers,"  cried  Barrington,  —  "the 
hand  that  my  dear  boy  has  so  often  pressed  in  friendship.  I 
know  all  that  you  were  to  each  other,  all  that  you  would  be 
to  his  memor}'." 

"  Can  you  forgive  me  ?  "  said  Conyers. 

"I  have,  for  many  a  year.  I  forgave  you  when  I  thought 
you  had  been  his  enemy.  T  now  know  you  had  only  been 
your  own  to  sacrifice  such  love,  such  affection  as  he  bore 
you." 

"  I  never  loved  him  more  than  I  have  hated  myself  for  my 
conduct  towards  him." 

"Let  us  talk  of  George,  —  he  loved  us  both,"  said  Bar- 
rington, who  still  held  Conyers  by  the  hand.  "It  is  a  theme 
none  but  yourself  can  rival  me  in  interest  for." 

It  was  not  easy  for  Conyers  to  attain  that  calm  which 
could  enable  him  to  answer  the  other's  questions;  but  by 
degrees  he  grew  to  talk  freely,  assisted  a  good  deal  by  the 
likeness  of  the  old  man  to  his  son,  —  a  resemblance  in  man- 
ner even  as  much  as  look,  —  and  thus,  before  they  reached 
town  again,  they  had  become  like  familiar  friends. 

Barrington  could  never  hear  enough  of  George;  even  of 
the  incidents  he  had  heard  of  by  letter,  he  liked  to  listen  to 
the  details  again,  and  to  mark  how  all  the  traits  of  that 
dear  boy  had  been  appreciated  by  others. 

"I  must  keep  you  m}'  prisoner,"  said  Barrington,  as 
they  gained  the  door  of  his  hotel.  "The  thirst  ]*have  is 
not  easily  slaked;  remember  that  for  more  than  thirty 
years  I  have  had  none  to  talk  to  me  of  my  boy !  I  know 
all  about  your  appointment  with  Withering;  he  was  to  have 
brought  you  here  this  morning  to  see  me,  and  my  old  friend 
will  rejoice  when  he  comes  and  finds  us  here  together." 

"He  was  certain  you  would  come  up  to  town,"  said  Con- 
yers, "when  you  got  his  letters.  You  would  see  at  once 
that  there  were  matters  which  should  be  promptly  dealt 
with ;  and  he  said,  '  Barrington  will  be  my  guest  at  dinner 
to-morrow. '  " 


156  HARRINGTON. 

"Kii?  —  bow? —  what  was  it  all  about?  George  has 
driven  all  else  out  of  my  liead,  and  I  declare  to  you  that  I 
have  not  the  very  vaguest  recollection  of  what  Wither- 
ing'8  letters  contained.  "Wait  a  moment;  a  light  is  break- 
ing on  me.  I  do  remember  something  of  it  all  now.  To 
be  sure!  What  a  head  I  have!  It  was  all  about  Stapylton. 
By  the  way,  General,  how  you  would  have  laughed  had  you 
heard  the  dressing  AVithering  gave  me  last  night,  when  I 
told  him  I  was  going  to  give  Stapylton  a  meeting." 

"A  hostile  meeting?" 

"Well,  if  you  like  to  give  it  that  new-fangled  name, 
General,  which  I  assure  you  was  not  in  vogue  when  I  was  a 
young  man.  Withering  rated  me  soundly  for  the  notion, 
reminded  me  of  my  white  hairs  and  such  other  disqualifica- 
tions, and  asked  me  indignantly,  '  What  the  workl  would 
say  when  they  came  to  hear  of  it?  '  '  What  would  the  world 
say  if  they  heard  I  declined  it,  Tom?'  was  my  answer. 
AVould  they  not  exclaim,  'Here  is  one  of  that  fire-eating 
school  who  are  always  rebuking  us  for  our  laxity  in  matters 
of  honor;  look  at  him  and  say,  are  these  the  principles  of 
his  sect? '  " 

Conyers  shook  his  head  dissentingly,  and  smiled. 

"No,  no!"  said  Barrington,  replying  to  the  other's  look, 
"you  are  just  of  my  own  mind!  A  man  who  believes  you 
to  have  injured  him  claims  reparation  as  a  matter  of  right. 
I  could  not  say  to  Stapylton,  '  I  will  not  meet  you! '  " 

"I  did  say  so,  and  that  within  a  fortnight." 

"You  said  so,  and  under  what  provocation?" 

"He  grossly  insulted  my  son,  who  M^as  his  subaltern;  he 
outraged  him  by  offensive  language,  and  he  dared  even  to 
impugn  his  personal  courage.  It  was  in  one  of  those  late 
riots  where  the  military  were  called  out;  and  my  boy, 
intrusted  with  the  duty  of  dispersing  an  assemblage, 
stopped  to  remonstrate  where  he  might  have  charged,  and 
actually  relieved  the  misery  he  had  his  orders  to  have  tram- 
pled under  the  feet  of  his  squadron.  Major  Stapylton  could 
have  reprimanded,  he  might  have  court-martialled  him;  he 
had  no  right  to  attempt  to  dishonor  him.  My  son  left  the 
service,  —  I  made  him  leave  on  the  spot,  —  and  we  went  over 
to  France  to  meet  this  man.     I  sent  for  Proctor  to  be  my 


A   HAPPY   MEETING.  157 

boy's  friend,  and  my  letter  found  him  at  Sir  Gilbert  Stapyl- 
tou's,  at  Hollowcliffe.  To  explain  bis  hurried  departure, 
Proctor  told  "what  called  him  away.  '  And  will  you  suffer 
your  friend  to  meet  that  adventurer,'  said  Sir  Gilbert,  '  who 
stole  my  nephew's  name  if  he  did  not  steal  more?  '  To  be 
brief,  he  told  that  this  fellow  had  lived  with  Colonel  How- 
ard Stapylton,  British  Resident  at  Ghurtnapore,  as  a  sort 
of  humble  private  secretary.  '  In  the  cholera  that  swept  the 
district  Howard  died,  and  although  his  will,  deposited  at 
Calcutta,  contained  several  legacies,  the  effects  to  redeem 
them  were  not  to  be  discovered.  Meanwhile  this  young 
fellow  assumed  the  name  of  Stapylton,  gave  himself  out 
for  his  heir,  and  even  threatened  to  litigate  some  landed 
property  in  England  with  How'ard's  brother.  An  intima- 
tion that  if  he  dared  to  put  his  menace  in  action  a  full 
inquiry  into  his  conduct  should  be  made,  stopped  him,  and 
we  heard  no  more  of  him,  — at  least,  for  a  great  many  years. 
When  an  old  Madras  friend  of  Howard's  who  came  down 
to  spend  his  Christmas,  said,  "Who  do  you  think  I  saw  in 
town  last  week,  but  that  young,  scamp  Howard  used  to  call 
his  Kitmagar,  and  who  goes  by  the  name  of  Stapylton?" 
we  were  so  indignant  at  first  that  we  resolved  on  all  manner 
of  exposures ;  but  learning  that  he  had  the  reputation  of  a 
good  officer,  and  had  actually  distinguished  himself  at 
Waterloo,  we  relented.  Since  that,  other  things  have  come 
to  our  knowledge  to  make  us  repent  our  lenity.  In  fact,  he 
is  an  adventurer  in  its  very  worst  sense,  and  has  traded 
upon  a  certain  amount  of  personal  courage  to  cover  a  char- 
acter of  downright  ignominy.'  Proctor,  on  hearing  all  this, 
recalled  me  to  England;  and  declared  that  he  had  traced 
enough  to  this  man's  charge  to  show  he  was  one  whom  no 
gentleman  could  meet.  It  would  appear  that  some  recent 
discoveries  had  been  made  about  him  at  the  Horse  Guards 
also ;  for  whea  Proctor  asked  for  a  certain  piece  of  infor- 
mation from  one  of  bis  friends  in  office  there,  he  heard,  for 
answer,  '  We  hope  to  know  that,  and  more,  in  a  day  or 
two.'" 

"Do  you  know  that  I  'm  sorry  for  it,  —  heartily  sorry?  " 
said  Barrington.  "The  fellow  had  that  stamp  of  manliness 
about  him  that  would  seem  the  pledge  of  a  bold,  straight- 
forward nature." 


158  BARRINGTON. 

"I  have  a  high  value  for  courage,  but  it  won't  do  every- 
thing." 

"More  's  the  pity,  for  it  renders  all  that  it  aids  of  tenfold 
more  worth." 

"And  on  the  back  of  all  this  discovery  conies  Hunter's 
letter,  which  Withering  has  sent  you,  to  show  that  this 
Stapylton  has  for  years  back  been  supplying  the  Indian 
Directors  with  materials  to  oppose  your  claims." 

"Nothing  ever  puzzled  us  so  much  as  the  way  every  weak 
point  of  our  case  was  at  once  seized  upon,  and  every  doubt 
we  ourselves  entertained  exaggerated  into  an  impassable 
barrier.  Withering  long  suspected  that  some  secret  enemy 
was  at  work  within  our  own  lines,  and  repeatedly  said  that 
we  were  sold.  The  difficulty  is,  why  this  man  should  once 
have  been  our  enemy,  and  now  should  strive  so  eagerly  to 
be  not  alone  our  friend,  but  one  of  us.  You  have  heard 
he  proposed  for  my  granddaughter?" 

"Fred  suspected  his  intentions  in  that  quarter,  but  we 
were  not  certain  of  them." 

"And  it  is  time  I  should  ask  after  your  noble-hearted 
boy.     How  is  he,  and  where?" 

"He  is  here,  at  my  hotel,  impatiently  waiting  your  per- 
mission to  go  down  to  '  The  Home. '  He  has  a  question  to 
ask  there,  whose  answer  will  be  his  destiny." 

"Has  Josephine  turned  another  head  then?  "  said  Barring- 
ton,  laughing. 

"She  has  w^on  a  very  honest  heart;  as  true  and  as  honor- 
able a  nature  as  ever  lived,"  said  Conj'ers,  with  emotion. 
"Your  granddaughter  does  not  know,  nor  needs  ever  to 
know,  the  wrong  I  have  done  her  father;  and  if  you  have 
forgiven  me,  you  will  not  remember  it  against  my  boy." 

"But  what  do  you  yourself  say  to  all  this?  You  have 
never  seen  the  girl  ?  " 

"Fred  has." 

"You  know  nothing  about  her  tastes,  her  temper,  her 
bringing  up." 

"Fred  does." 

"Nor  are  you  aware  that  the  claim  we  have  so  long  relied 
on  is  almost  certain  to  be  disallowed.  I  have  scarcely  a 
hope  now  remaining  with  regard  to  it." 


A   mVPPY   MEETING.  159 

•*I  have  more  thau  I  need;  and  if  Fred  will  let  me  have  a 
bungalow  in  his  garden,  I  '11  make  it  all  over  to  him  to- 
morrow. " 

"It  is  then  with  your  entire  consent  he  would  make  this 
offer?" 

"With  my  whole  heart  in  it!  I  shall  never  feel  I  have 
repaired  the  injury  I  have  done  George  Barringtou  till  I 
have  called  his  daughter  my  own." 

Old  Barringtou  arose,  and  walked  up  and  down  with  slow 
and  measured  steps.  At  last  he  halted  directl}'  in  front  of 
General  Conyers,  and  said,  — 

"  If  you  will  do  me  one  kindness,  I  will  agree  to  every- 
thing. What  am  I  saying?  I  agree  alread}';  and  I  would 
not  make  a  bargain  of  my  consent;  but  you  will  not  refuse 
me  a  favor  ?  " 

"Ask  me  anything,  and  I  promise  it  on  the  faith  of  a 
gentleman." 

"It  is  this,  then;  that  you  will  stand  by  me  in  this  affair 
of  Stapylton's.  I  have  gone  too  far  for  subtleties  or  nice- 
ties. It  is  no  question  of  who  was  his  father,  or  what  was 
bis  own  bringing  up.  I  have  told  him  I  should  be  at  his 
orders,  and  don't  let  me  break  my  word." 

"If  you  choose  me  for  your  friend,  Barringtou,  you  must 
not  dictate  how  I  am  to  act  for  j'ou." 

"That  is  quite  true;  you  are  perfectly  correct  there,"  said 
the  other,  in  some  confusion. 

"On  that  condition,  then,  that  I  am  free  to  do  for  you 
what  I  would  agree  to  in  my  own  case,  I  accept  the 
charge." 

"And  there  is  to  be  no  humbug  of  consideration  for  my 
age  and  my  white  hairs ;  none  of  that  nonsense  about  a  fellow 
with  one  leg  in  the  grave.  Mark  you,  Conyers,  I  will  stand 
none  of  these ;  I  have  never  taken  a  writ  of  ease  not  to  serve 
on  a  jury,  nor  will  I  hear  of  one  that  exempts  me  from  the 
rights  of  a  gentleman." 

"I  have  got  your  full  powers  to  treat,  and  you  must  trust 
me.     Where  are  we  to  find  Stapylton's  friend?" 

"  He  gave  me  an  address  which  I  never  looked  at.  Here 
it  is ! "  and  he  drew  a  card  from  his  pocket. 

"  Captain  Duff  Brown,  late  Fifth  Fusiliers,  Holt's  Hotel, 
Charino;  Cross." 


160  BARRIXGTON. 

"Do  you  know  him?"  asked  Barrington,  as  the  other 
stood  silently  re-reading  the  address. 

"Yes,  thoroughly,"  said  he,  with  a  dry  significance. 
"  The  man  who  selects  Duff  Brown  to  act  for  him  in  an  affair 
of  honor  must  be  in  a  sore  strait.  It  is  a  sorry  indorsement 
to  character.  He  had  to  leave  the  service  from  the  imputa- 
tion of  foul  play  in  a  duel  himself ;  and  I  took  an  active 
part  against  him." 

"  Will  this  make  your  position  unpleasant  to  you,  — would 
you  rather  not  act  for  me  ?  " 

"  Quite  the  reverse.  It  is  more  than  ever  necessary'  you 
should  have  some  one  who  not  only  knows  the  men  he  is  to 
deal  with,  but  is  known  himself  to  them.  It  is  a  preliminary 
will  save  a  world  of  trouble." 

"  When  can  we  set  out?" 

"To-night  by  the  eight-o'clock  packet,  we  can  sail  for 
Liverpool ;  but  let  us  first  of  all  despatch  Fred  to  '  The 
Home.'  The  poor  boy  will  be  half  dead  with  anxiety  till  he 
knows  I  have  your  permission." 

"I'll  accredit  him  with  a  letter  to  m}'  sister;  not  tliat  he 
needs  it,  for  he  is  one  of  her  prime  favorites.  And  now  for 
another  point.  Withering  must  be  made  believe  that  we  are 
all  off  together  for  the  country  this  evening.  He  is  so  op- 
posed to  this  affair  with  Stapylton,  that  he  is  in  a  mood  to 
do  anything  to  prevent  it." 

"Well  thought  of;  and  here  comes  the  man  himself  in 
search  of  us." 

"  I  have  been  half  over  the  town  after  you  this  morning, 
General,"  said  AVithering,  as  he  entered;  "and  your  son, 
too,  could  make  nothing  of  your  absence.  He  is  in  the 
carriage  at  the  door  now,  not  knowing  whether  he  ought  to 
come  up." 

"I'll  soon  i-eassure  him  on  that  score,"  said  Barrington, 
as  he  left  the  room,  and  hastened  downstairs  with  the  step 
of  one  that  defied  the  march  of  time. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MEET    COMPANIONSHIP. 

In  a  very  modest  chambei*  of  a  house  in  one  of  the  streets 
which  lead  from  the  Strand  to  the  Thames,  two  persons  sat 
at  supper.  It  is  no  time  for  lengthened  introductions,  and 
I  must  present  Captain  Duff  Brown  very  hurriedly  to  my 
reader,  as  he  confronted  his  friend  Stapylton  at  table.  The 
Captain  was  a  jovial-looking,  full-whiskered,  somewhat  cor- 
pulent man,  with  a  ready  reply,  a  ready  laugh,  and  a  hand 
readier  than  either,  whether  the  weapon  wielded  was  a 
billiard-cue  or  a  pistol. 

The  board  before  them  was  covered  with  oysters  and 
oyster-shells,  porter  in  its  pewter,  a  square-shaped  decanter 
of  gin,  and  a  bundle  of  cigars.  The  cloth  was  dirty,  the 
knives  unclean,  and  the  candles  ill-matched  and  of  tallow ; 
but  the  guests  did  not  seem  to  have  bestowed  much  attention 
to  these  demerits,  but  ate  and  drank  like  men  who  enjoyed 
their  fare. 

"  The  best  country  in  Europe,  —  the  best  in  the  world,  — 
I  call  England  for  a  fellow  who  knows  life,"  cried  the  Cap- 
tain. "There  is  nothing  you  cannot  do;  nothing  you  can- 
not have  in  it." 

"  "U'ith  eight  thousand  a  year,  perhaps,"  said  Stapylton, 
sarcastically. 

"No  need  of  anything  like  it.  Does  any  man  want  a 
better  supper  than  we  have  had  to-night?  What  better 
could  he  have?  And  the  whole  cost  not  over  five,  or  at 
most  six  shillings  for  the  pair  of  us." 

"You  may  talk  till  you  are  hoarse.  Duff,  but  I'll  not  stay 
in  it.  When  once  I  have  settled  these  two  or  three  matters 
I  have  told  you  of,  I'll  start  for  —  I  don't  much  care 
whither.     I'll  go  to  Persia,  or  perhaps  to  the  Yankees." 

VOL.    II. —  11 


162  BARRINGTON. 

"  I  always  keep  America  for  the  finish !  "  said  the  other. 
*'  It  is  to  the  rest  of  the  world  what  the  copper  hell  is  to 
Crockford's,  —  the  last  refuge  when  one  walks  in  broken 
boots  and  in  low  company.  But  tell  me,  what  have  yo\x 
done  to-day  ;  where  did  you  go  after  we  parted  ?  " 

"I  went  to  the  Horse  Guards,  and  saw  Blanchard,  — 
pompous  old  humbug  that  he  is.  I  told  him  that  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  sell  out;  that  I  intended  to  take  ser- 
vice in  a  foreign  army,  —  he  hates  foreigners,  —  and  begged 
he  would  expedite  my  affairs  with  his  Royal  Highness,  as 
my  arrangements  could  not  admit  of  dela}'." 

"And  he  told  you  that  there  was  an  official  routine,  out 
of  which  no  officer  need  presume  to  expect  his  business 
could  travel  ?  " 

"He  told  me  no  such  thing.  He  flatly  said,  '  Your  case  is 
already  before  the  Commander-in-Chief,  Major  Stapylton, 
and  you  may  rely  on  it  there  will  be  no  needless  delay  in 
dealing  with  it." 

"That  was  a  threat,  I  take  it." 

"Of  course  it  was  a  threat;  and  I  only  said,  '  It  will  be  the 
first  instance  of  the  kind,  then,  in  the  department, '  and  left 
him." 

"Where  to,  after  that?" 

"I  next  went  to  Gregory's,  the  magistrate  of  police.  I 
wanted  to  see  the  informations  the  black  fellow  swore  to; 
and  as  I  knew  a  son  of  Gregory's  in  the  Carbiniers,  I 
thought  I  could  manage  it;  but  bad  luck  would  have  it  that 
the  old  fellow  should  have  in  his  hands  some  unsettled  bills 
with  my  indorsements  on  them,  —  fact;  Gregory  and  1  used 
to  do  a  little  that  way  once,  —  and  he  almost  got  a  fit  when 
he  heard  my  name." 

"Tried  back  after  that,  eh?" 

"Went  on  to  Renshaw's  and  won  fifty  pounds  at  hazard, 
took  Blake's  odds  on  Diadem,  and  booked  myself  for  a 
berth  in  the  Boulogne  steamer,  which  leaves  at  two  this 
morning." 

"You  secured  a  passport  for  me,  didn't  you?" 

"No.  You  '11  have  to  come  as  my  servant.  The  Em- 
bassy fellows  were  all  strangers  to  me.  and  said  they  would 
not  give  a  separate  passport  without  seeing  the  bearer." 


MEET  COMPANIONSHIP. 


163 


"All  right.  I  don't  dislike  the  second  cabin,  nor  the 
ladies'-maids.     What  about  the  pistols?  " 

"They  are  yonder  under  the  great-coat.  Renshaw  lent 
them.  They  are  not  very  good,  he  says,  and  one  of  thena 
hangs  a  little  in  the  fire." 

"They  '11  be  better  than  the  old  Irishman's,  that 's  cer- 


^ 


^^^-^ 


tain.  You  may  swear  that  his  tools  were  in  use  early  in  the 
last  century." 

"And  himself,  too;  that's  the  worst  of  it  all.  I  wish  it 
was  not  a  fellow  that  might  be  my  grandfather." 

"I  don't  know.  I  rather  suspect,  if  I  was  given  to  com- 
punctions, I  'd  have  less  6i  them  for  shaking  down  the 
rotten  ripe  fruit  than  the  blossom." 


164  BARKINGTON. 

"And  be  's  a  fine  old  fellow,  too,"  said  Stapylton,  half 
sadly. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  him  to  drop  in  this  evening  and 
have  a  little  ecarte  ?  " 

For  a  while  Stapylton  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand  mood- 
ily, and  said  nothing. 

"Cheer  up,  man!  Taste  that  Hollands.  I  never  mixed 
better,"  said  Brown. 

""I  begin  to  regret  now.  Duff,  that  I  didn't  take  your 
advice." 

"And  run  away  with  her?" 

"Yes,  it  would  have  been  the  right  course,  after  all!  " 

"I  knew  it.  I  always  said  it.  I  told  you  over  and  over 
again  what  would  happen  if  you  went  to  work  in  orderly 
fashion.  They  'd  at  once  say,  '  Who  are  your  people,  — 
where  are  they,  —  what  have  they  ? '  Now,  let  a  man  be  as 
inventive  as  Daniel  Defoe  himself,  there  will  always  slip 
out  some  flaw  or  other  about  a  name,  or  a  date,  —  dates  are 
the  very  devil !  But  when  you  have  once  carried  her  off, 
what  can  they  do  but  compromise?  " 

"She  would  never  have  consented." 

"I  'd  not  have  asked  her.  I  'd  have  given  her  the  benefit 
of  the  customs  of  the  land  she  lived  in,  and  made  it  a 
regular  abduction.  Paddy  somebody  and  Terence  some- 
thing else  are  always  ready  to  risk  their  necks  for  a  pint  of 
whiskey  and  a  breach  of  the  laws." 

"I  don't  think  I  could  have  brought  myself  to  it." 

"/could,  I  promise  you." 

"And  there  's  an  end  of  a  man  after  such  a  thing." 

"Yes,  if  he  fails.  If  he's  overtaken  and  thrashed,  I 
grant  you  he  not  only  loses  the  game,  but  gets  the  cards  in 
his  face,  besides.  But  why  fail?  Nobody  fails  when  he 
wants  to  win,  —  when  he  determines  to  win.  When  I  shot 
De  Courcy  at  Asterabad  —  " 

"Don't  bring  up  that  affair,  at  least,  as  one  of  precedent. 
Duff.  I  neither  desire  to  be  tried  for  a  capital  felony,  nor 
to  have  committed  one." 

"Capital  fiddlesticks!  As  if  men  did  not  fight  duels 
every  day  of  the  week;  the  difference  between  guilt  and 
innocence   being   that   one    fellow's  hand   shook,    and   the 


MEET  COMPANIONSHIP.  165 

other's  was  steady.  De  Courcy  would  have  '  dropped  '  me, 
if  I  'd  have  let  him." 

"And  so  you  would  have  carried  her  off,  Master  Duff?" 
said  Stapylton,  slowly. 

"Yes;  if  she  had  the  pot  of  money  you  speak  of,  and  no 
Lord  Chancellor  for  a  guardian.  I  'd  have  made  the  thing 
sure  at  once." 

"The  money  she  will  and  must  have;  so  much  fs  certain." 

"Then  I  'd  have  made  the  remainder  just  as  certain." 

"It  is  a  vulgar  crime.  Duff;  it  would  be  very  hard  to 
stoop  to  it." 

"Fifty  things  are  harder,  — no  cash,  no  credit  are  harder. 
The  Fleet  is  harder.  But  what  is  that  noise?  Don't  j'ou 
hear  a  knock  at  the  door?  Yes,  there's  some  one  without 
who  hasn't  much  patience."  So  saying,  he  arose  and 
walked  to  the  door.  As  he  opened  it,  he  started  back  a 
little  with  surprise,  for  it  was  a  police  constable  stood  be- 
fore him. 

"Not  you,  Captain,  not  yoxi,  sir!  it's  another  gentleman 
I  want.  I  see  him  at  the  table  there,  —  Major  Stapylton." 
By  this  time  the  man  had  entered  the  room  and  stood  in 
front  of  the  fire.  "I  have  a  warrant  against  you,  Major," 
said  he,  quietly.  "Informations  have  been  sworn  before 
Mr.  Colt  that  you  intend  to  fight  a  duel,  and  you  must 
appear  at  the  office  to-morrow,  to  enter  into  your  bond,  and 
to  give  securities  to  keep  the  peace." 

"Who  swore  the  informations?"  cried  Brown. 

"What  have  we  to  do  with  that?"  said  Stapylton,  impa- 
tientl}'.  "Isn't  the  world  full  of  meddling  old  women? 
Who  wants  to  know  the  names?  " 

"I  '11  lay  the  odds  it  was  old  Conyers;  the  greatest  hum- 
bug in  that  land  of  humbugs,  —  Bengal.  It  was  he  that 
insisted  on  my  leaving  the  Fifth.  Come,  Sergeant,  out 
with  it.     This  was  General  Conyers's  doing?" 

"I'm  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  declare  you  in  custody. 
Major,"  said  the  policeman;  "but  if  you  like  to  come  over 
to  Mr.  Colt's  private  residence,  I  'm  sure  he  'd  settle  the 
matter  this  evening." 

"He'll  do  no  such  thing,  by  George!"  cried  Brown. 
"The  sneaking  dogs  who  have   taken  this  shabby  course 


1G6  BARRINGTON. 

shall  be  exposed  in  open  court.  We  '11  have  the  names  in 
full,  and  iu  every  newspaper  in  England.  Don't  compro- 
mise the  case,  Slapyllon;  make  them  eat  the  mess  they  have 
cooked,  to  the  last  mouthful.  "We  '11  show  the  world  what 
the  fighting  Irishman  and  his  gallant  friend  are  made  of. 
Major  Stapylton  is  your  prisoner,  Sergeant  ?  " 

The  man  smiled  slightly  at  the  passionate  energy  of  the 
speaker,  and  turned  to  Stapylton.  "There  's  no  objection 
to  your  going  to  your  lodgings,  Major.  You  '11  be  at  the 
chief  ollice  by  ten  to-morrow." 

Stapylton  nodded  assent,  and  the  other  retired  and  closed 
the  door. 

"What  do  you  say  now?"  cried  Brown,  triumphantly. 
"Did  n't  I  tell  you  this?  Did  n't  I  say  that  when  old  Con- 
yers  heard  my  name,  he  'd  say,  '  Oh,  there  '11  be  no  squaring 
this  business  '  ?  " 

"It 's  just  as  likely  that  he  said,  '  I  '11  not  confer  with  that 
man ;  he  had  to  leave  the  service. '  " 

"More  fool  you,  then,  not  to  have  had  a  more  respectable 
friend.     Had  you  there,  Stapylton, — eh?" 

"I  acknowledge  that.  All  I  can  say  in  extenuation  is, 
that  I  hoped  old  Harrington,  living  so  long  out  of  the  world, 
would  have  selected  another  old  mummy  like  himself,  w^ho 
had  never  heard  of  Captain  Duff  Brown,  nor  his  famous  ti-ial 
at  Calcutta." 

"There  's  not  a  man  in  the  kingdom  has  not  heard  of  me. 
I  'm  as  well  known  as  the  first  Duke  in  the  land." 

"Don't  boast  of  it,  Duff;  even  notoriety  is  not  always  a 
cheap  luxury." 

"Who  knows  but  you  may  divide  it  with  me  to-morrow  or 
next  day?  " 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?  —  what  do  you  mean?"  cried 
Stapylton,  slapping  the  table  with  his  clenched  hand. 

"Only  what  I  said, — that  Major  Stapjdton  may  furnish 
the  town  with  a  nine-days  wonder,  vice  Captain  Duff  Brown, 
forgotten." 

P^vidently  ashamed  of  his  wrath,  Stapylton  tried  to  laugh 
off  the  occasion  of  it,  and  said,  "I  suppose  neither  of  us 
would  take  the  matter  much  to  heart." 

"I  '11  not  go  to  the  office  with  you  to-morrow,  Stapylton, 


MEET  COMPANIONSHIP.  167 

added  he,  after  a  pause;  "that  old  Sepoy  General  would 
certainly  seize  the  opportunity  to  open  some  old  scores  that 
I'd  as  soon  leave  undisturbed." 

"All  right,  I  think  you  are  prudent  there." 

"But  I  '11  be  of  use  in  another  way.  I  '11  lay  in  wait  for 
that  fellow  who  reports  for  the  '  Chronicle,'  the  only  paper 
that  cares  for  these  things,  and  I  '11  have  him  deep  in  the 
discussion  of  some  devilled  kidneys  when  your  case  is  called 
on." 

"I  fancy  it  does  not  matter  what  publicity  it  obtains." 

"Ah,  I  don't  know  that.  Old  Braddell,  our  major,  used 
to  say,  '  Reputation,  after  forty,  is  like  an  old  wall.  If  you 
begin  to  break  a  hole  in  it,  you  never  know  how  much  will 
come  away.'  " 

"I  tell  you  again.  Duff,  I  'm  past  scandalizing;  but  have 
your  way,  if  you  will  '  muzzle  the  ox,'  and  let  us  get  away 
from  this  as  soon  as  may  be.  I  want  a  little  rest  after  this 
excitement." 

"Well,  I'm  pretty  much  in  the  same  boot  myself,  though 
I  don't  exactly  know  where  to  go.  France  is  dangerous. 
In  Prussia  there  are  two  sentences  recorded  against  me. 
I  'm  condemned  to  eight  years'  hard  labor  in  Wiirtemberg, 
and  pronounced  dead  in  Austria  for  my  share  in  that  Vene- 
tian disturbance." 

"Don't  tell  me  of  these  rascalities.  Bad  enough  when  a 
man  is  driven  to  them,  but  downright  infamy  to  be  proud 
of." 

"Have  you  never  thought  of  going  into  the  Church?  I  've 
a  notion  you  'd  be  a  stunning  preacher." 

"Give  up  this  bantering,  Duff,  and  tell  me  how  I  shall  get 
hold  of  young  Conyers.  I  'd  rather  put  a  ball  in  that  fellow 
than  be  a  Lieutenant-General.  He  has  ever  been  my  rock 
ahead.  That  silly  coxcomb  has  done  more  to  mar  my 
destiny  than  scores  of  real  enemies.  To  shoot  him  would 
be  to  throw  a  shell  in  the  very  midst  of  them." 

"I  'd  rather  loot  him,  if  I  had  the  choice;  the  old  General 
has  lots  of  money.  Stapylton,  scuttle  the  ship,  if  you  like, 
but  first  let  me  land  the  cargo.  Of  all  the  vengeances  a 
man  can  wreak  on  another  the  weakest  is  to  kill  him.  For 
my  part,  I'd  cherish  the  fellow  that  injured  me.     I'd  set 


168  BARRINGTON. 

myself  to  study  his  tastes  and  learn  his  ambitions.  I  'd 
watch  over  him  and  follow  him,  being,  as  it  were,  his  dear- 
est of  all  friends,  —  read  backwards !  " 

''This  is  tiresome  scoundrelisui.  I'll  to  bed,"  said 
Stapylton,  taking  a  candle  from  the  table. 

"Well,  if  you  must  shoot  this  fellow,  wait  till  he  's  mar- 
ried; wait  for  the  honeymoon." 

"There  's  some  sense  in  that.     I  '11  go  and  sleep  over  it." 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

AUNT   DOROTHEA. 

"You  must  come  clown  with  me  for  one  day,  Tom,  to  see  an 
old  aunt  of  mine  at  Bournemouth,"  said  Hunter  to  young 
Dill.  "I  never  omitted  going  to  see  her  the  first  thing 
whenever  I  landed  in  England,  and  she  '11  not  forgive  me  if 
I  were  to  do  so  now." 

"But  why  should  I  go,  sir?  My  presence  would  only 
trouble  the  comfort  of  a  family  meeting." 

"Quite  the  reverse.  She'll  be  delighted  to  see  you.  It 
will  be  such  a  triumph  to  her,  amongst  all  her  neighbors, 
to  have  had  a  visit  from  the  hero  of  the  day,  —  the  fellow 
that  all  the  print-shops  are  full  of.  Why,  man,  you  are 
worth  five  hundi-ed  pounds  to  me.  I  'm  not  sure  1  might 
not  say  double  as  much." 

"In  that  case,  sir,  I  'm  perfectly  at  your  orders." 

And  down  they  went,  and  arrived  late  on  the  day  after 
this  conversation  at  an  old-fashioned  manor-house,  where 
Miss  Dorothy  Hunter  had  passed  some  sixty-odd  years  of 
her  life.  Though  to  Tom  she  seemed  to  bear  a  great  resem- 
blance to  old  Miss  Barrington,  there  was  really  little  like- 
ness between  them,  beyond  an  inordinate  pride  of  birth, 
and  an  intense  estimation  for  the  claims  of  famil}'.  Miss 
Hunter's  essential  characteristic  was  a  passion  for  celebri- 
ties ;  a  taste  somewhat  difficult  to  cultivate  in  a  very  remote 
and  little  visited  locality.  The  result  was  that  she  consoled 
herself  by  portraits,  or  private  letters,  or  autographs  of  her 
heroes,  who  ranged  over  every  imaginable  career  in  life,  and 
of  whom,  by  mere  dint  of  iteration,  she  had  grown  to  believe 
herself  the  intimate  friend  or  correspondent. 

No  sooner  had  she  learned  that  her  nephew  was  to  be 
accompanied  by  the  gallant  young  soldier  whose  name  was 
in  every  newspaper  than  she  made  what  she  deemed  the 


170  BARRINGTON. 

most  suitable  preparations  for  his  reception.  Her  bedroom 
was  bung  round  with  portraits  of  naval  heroes,  or  pictures 
of  sea-fights.  Grim  old  admirals,  telescope  in  hand,  or  with 
streaming  hair,  shouting  out  orders  to  board  the  enemy, 
were  on  every  side;  while,  in  the  place  of  honor,  over  the 
fireplace,  hung  a  vacant  frame,  destined  one  day  to  contain 
the  hero  of  the  hour,  Tom  Dill  himself. 

Never  was  a  poor  fellow  in  this  world  less  suited  to  adula- 
tion of  this  sort.  He  was  either  overwhelmed  with  the 
flattery,  or  oppressed  by  a  terror  of  what  some  sensible 
spectator  —  if  such  there  were  —  would  think  of  the  absurd 
position  in  which  he  was  forced  to  stand.  And  when  he 
found  himself  obliged  to  inscribe  his  name  in  a  long  column 
of  illustrious  autographs,  the  sight  of  his  own  scarce  legible 
characters  filled  up  the  measure  of  his  shame. 

"He  writes  like  the  great  Turenne,"  said  Miss  Dorothy; 
"he  always  wrote  from  above  downwards,  so  that  no  other 
name  than  his  own  could  figure  on  the  page." 

"I  got  many  a  thrashing  for  it  at  school,  ma'am,"  said 
Tom,  apologizing,  "and  so  I  gave  up  writing  altogether." 

"Ah,  yes!  the  men  of  action  soon  learn  to  despise  the 
pen;  they  prefer  to  make  history  rather  than  record  it." 

It  was  not  easy  for  Hunter  to  steer  his  bashful  friend 
through  all  the  shoals  and  quicksands  of  such  flattery;  but, 
on  the  plea  of  his  broken  health  and  strength,  he  hurried 
him  early  to  his  bed,  and  returned  to  the  fireside,  where 
his  aunt  awaited  him. 

"He's  charming,  if  he  were  only  not  so  diffident.  Why 
will  he  not  be  more  confiding,  more  at  his  ease  with  me, 
—  like  Mungo  Park,  or  Sir  Sidne}^  Smith?" 

"After  a  while,  so  he  will,  aunt.  You  '11  see  what  a 
change  there  will  be  in  him  at  our  next  visit.  All  these 
flatteries  he  meets  with  are  too  much  for  him ;  but  when  we 
come  down  again,  you  '11  see  him  without  these  distracting 
influences.  Then  bear  in  mind  his  anxieties,  —  he  has  not 
yet  seen  his  family;  he  is  eager  to  be  at  home  again.  I 
carried  him  off  here  positively  in  spite  of  himself,  and  on 
the  strict  pledge  of  only  for  one  day." 

"One  day!  And  do  you  mean  that  you  are  to  go  to* 
morrow  ?  " 


AUNT  DOROTHEA.  171 

"No  help  for  it,  aunt.  Tom  is  to  be  at  Windsor  on  Sat- 
urday. But  for  that,  he  would  already  have  been  on  his 
way  to  Ireland." 

"Then  there's  no  time  to  be  lost.  What  can  we  do  for 
him  ?     He  's  not  rich  ?  " 

"Hasn't  a  shilling;  but  would  reject  the  very  shadow  of 
such  assistance." 

"Not  if  a  step  were  purchased  for  him;  without  his 
knowledge,  I  mean." 

"It  would  be  impossible  that  he  should  not  know  it." 

"But  surely  there  is  some  way  of  doing  it.  A  handsome 
sum  to  commemorate  his  achievement  might  be  subscribed. 
I  would  begin  it  with  a  thousand  pounds." 

"He'd  not  accept  it.  I  know  him  thoroughly.  There's 
only  one  road  to  him  through  which  he  would  not  deem  a 
favor  a  burden." 

"And  what  of  that?" 

"A  kindness  to  his  sister.     I  wish  you  saw  her,  aunt! " 

"Is  she  like  him?" 

"Like  him?  Yes;  but  very  much  better-looking.  She's 
singularly  handsome,  and  such  a  girl!  so  straightforward 
and  so  downright.  It  is  a  positive  luxury  to  meet  her  after 
all  the  tiresome  conventionalities  of  the  every-day  young 
lady." 

"Shall  I  ask  her  here?" 

"Oh,  if  you  would,  aunt!  —  if  you  only  would! " 

"That  you  may  fall  in  love  with  her,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  aunt,  that  is  done  already." 

"I  think,  sir,  I  might  have  been  apprised  of  this  attach- 
ment!" said  she,  bridling. 

"I  didn't  know  it  myself,  aunt,  till  I  was  close  to  the 
Cape.  I  thought  it  a  mere  fancy  as  we  dropped  down 
Channel ;  grew  more  thoughtful  over  it  in  the  Bay  of  Bis- 
cay; began  to  believe  it  as  we  discovered  St.  Helena;  and 
came  back  to  England  resolved  to  tell  you  the  whole  truth, 
and  ask  you,  at  least,  to  see  her  and  know  her." 

"So  I  will,  then.     I'll  write  and  invite  her  here." 

"You  're  the  best  and  kindest  aunt  in  Christendom!  "  said 
he,  rushing  over  and  kissing  her. 

"I'm  not  going  to  let  vou  read  it,  sir,"  said  she,  with  a 


172  BARRINGTON. 

smile.  "  If  she  show  it  to  you,  she  may.  Otherwise  it  is  a 
matter  between  ourselves." 

"Re  it  entirely  as  you  wish,  aunt." 

"And  if  all  this  goes  hopefully  on,"  said  she,  after  a 
pause,  "is  Aunt  Dorothea  to  be  utterly  forgotten?  No 
more  visits  here,  —  no  happy  summer  evenings,  —  no  more 
merry  Christuuises  ?  " 

"Nay,  aunt,  1  mean  to  be  your  neighbor.  That  cottage 
3'ou  liave  often  offered  me,  near  the  rocks,  I  '11  not  refuse  it 
again,  —  that  is,  if  you  tempt  me  once  more." 

"It  is  yours,  and  the  farm  along  with  it.  Go  to  bed 
now,  and  leave  me  to  write  my  note,  which  will  require 
some  thought  and  reflection." 

"  I  know  you  '11  do  it  well.  I  know  none  who  could  equal 
yon  in  such  a  task." 

"I  '11  try  and  acquit  myself  with  credit,"  said  she,  as  she 
sat  down  to  the  writing-desk. 

"And  what  is  all  this  about,  — a  letter  from  Miss  Doro- 
thea to  Polly,"  said  Tom,  as  they  drove  along  the  road  back 
to  town.     "Surely  they  never  met?  " 

"Never;  but  my  aunt  intends  that  they  shall.  She  writes 
to  ask  your  sister  to  come  on  a  visit  here." 

"But  why  not  have  told  her  the  thing  was  impossible? 
You  know  us.  You  have  seen  the  humble  way  we  live,  — 
how  many  a  care  it  costs  to  keep  up  that  little  show  of 
respectability  that  gets  us  sufferance  in  the  world,  and  how 
one  little  attempt  beyond  this  is  quite  out  of  our  reach. 
Why  not  have  told  her  frankly,  sir,  '  These  people  are  not  in 
our  station  '  ?  " 

"Just  because  I  acknowledge  no  such  distinction  as  you 
want  to  draw,  my  good  fellow.  If  my  annt  has  asked  your 
sister  to  come  three  hundred  miles  to  see  her,  she  has 
thought  over  her  request  with  more  foresight  than  you  or  I 
could  have  given  it,  take  my  word  for  it.  When  she  means 
kindly,  she  plans  thoughtfully.  And  now  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  never  meant  to  have  spoken  of,  that  it  was  only  last 
night  she  asked  me  how  could  she  be  of  use  to  you?  " 

"  To  me!"  said  he,  blushing,  "  and  why  to  me    " 

"Can  you  never  be  brought  to  see  that  you  are  a  hero, 
Tom,  —  that  all  the  world  is  talking  of  you  just  now,  and 


AUNT  DOROTHEA.  173 

people  feel  a  pride  in  being  even  passingly  mixed  up  with 
your  name?" 

"If  they  only  knew  how  much  I  have  to  be  ashamed  of 
before  I  can  begin  to  feel  vain,  they  'd  not  be  so  ready  with 
their  praise  or  their  flattery." 

"  I  '11  talk  over  all  that  with  your  sister  Polly,"  said  Hun- 
ter, gayly ;  for  he  saw  the  serious  spirit  that  was  gaining 
over  the  poor  fellow. 

"Do  so,  sir;  and  you'll  soon  see,  if  there's  anything 
good  or  hopeful  about  me,  where  it  comes  from  and  who 
gave  it." 


CHAFIER  XIX. 

FROM  GENERAL  CONYERS  TO  HIS  SON. 

Beduwys,  N.  Wales. 
My  dear  Fred,  —  How  happy  T  am  that  you  are  enjoying  your- 
self ;  short  of  being  with  you,  nothing  could  have  given  me  greater 
pleasure  than  your  letter.  I  like  your  portrait  of  the  old  lady,  whose 
eccentricities  are  never  inconsistent  with  some  charming  traits  of 
disposition,  and  a  nature  eminently  high-minded  and  honorable;  but 
why  not  more  about  Josephine?  She  is  surely  oftener  in  your 
thoughts  than  your  one  brief  paragraph  would  bespeak,  and  has  her 
due  share  in  making  the  cottage  the  delightful  home  you  describe  it 
to  be.  I  entreat  you  to  be  more  open  and  more  explicit  on  this 
theme,  for  it  may  yet  be  many  days  before  I  can  explore  the  matter 
for  myself ;  since,  instead  of  the  brief  absence  I  calculated  on,  we 
may,  for  aught  I  know,  be  detained  here  for  some  weeks. 

It  is  clear  to  me,  from  your  last,  a  note  of  mine  from  Liverpool  to 
you  must  have  miscarried.  You  ask  me  where  you  are  to  address 
me  next,  and  what  is  the  nature  of  the  business  which  has  called  me 
away  so  suddenly?  I  gave  you  in  that  letter  all  the  information 
that  I  was  myself  possessed  of,  and  which,  in  three  words,  amounted 
to  this :  Old  Barrington,  having  involved  himself  in  a  serious  per- 
sonal quarrel  with  Stapylton,  felt,  or  believed,  that  he  ought  to  give 
him  a  meeting.  Seeing  how  useless  all  attempt  at  dissuasion  proved, 
and  greatly  fearing  what  hands  he  might  fall  into,  I  agreed  to  be  his 
friend  on  the  occasion  ;  trusting,  besides,  that  by  a  little  exercise  of 
tact  and  temper,  extreme  measures  might  be  avoided,  and  the  affair 
arrancfed.  You  may  well  believe,  without  my  insisting  further  upon 
it,  that  I  felt  very  painfully  how  we  should  both  figure  before  the 
world,  —  a  man  of  eighty-three  or  four,  accompanied  to  the  ground 
bv  another  cf  sixty-odd  !  I  know  well  how,  in  the  changed  temper 
of  the  age,  such  acts  are  criticised,  and  acquiesce,  besides,  in  the 
wiser  spirit  that  now  prevails.  However,  as  T  said  before,  if  Bar- 
rington must  go  on,  it  were  better  he  should  do  so  under  the  guid- 
ance of  a  sincere  friend  than  of  one  casually  elevated  to  act  as  such, 
in  a  moment  of  emergency. 

We  left  Dublin,  by  the  mail-packet,  on  "Wednesday  ;  and  after  a 
rough  passage  of  twenty-three  hours,  reached  Liverpool  too  late  to 


CORRESPONDENCE.  175 

catch  the  evening  coach.  Thus  detained,  we  only  arrived  here  on 
Sunday  night  late.  At  my  club  1  found  a  note  from  Stapylton,  stat- 
ing that  he  had  daily  called  there  to  learn  if  we  had  come,  but  the 
boisterous  state  of  the  weather  sufficiently  explained  our  delay,  and 
givinf  an  address  where  he  might  be  found,  as  well  as  that  of  "  his 
friend."  Xow,  it  so  chanced  that  this  friend  was  a  very  notorious 
person  well  known  to  me  in  India,  where  he  had  been  tried  for  an 
unfair  duel,  and  narrowly  escaped  —  I  should  say  unjustly  escaped 
—  being  hanged.  Though  I  had  fully  made  up  my  mind  not  to  be 
placed  in  any  relations  with  such  a  man,  T  thought  it  would  be  as  well 
that  Barrington  should  know  the  character  of  his  antagonist's  friend 
from  other  sources,  and  so  I  invited  an  old  Bengal  companion  of 
mine  to  dine  with  us  the  day  after  we  arrived.  Stamer  was  a  judge 
of  the  criminal  court,  and  tried  Duff  Brown,  the  man  I  speak  of. 
As  we  sat  over  our  wine  together,  we  got  upon  this  case,  and  Stamer 
declared  that  it  was  the  only  criminal  cause  in  his  whole  life  wherein 
he  regretted  the  escape  of  the  guilty  party.  "  The  fellow,"  said  he, 
"  defended  himself  in  a  three  hours'  speech,  ably  and  powerfully  ; 
but  enunciated  at  times  —  as  it  were  unconsciously  —  sentiments  so 
abominable  and  so  atrocious  as  to  destroy  the  sympathy  a  part  of  his 
discourse  excited.  But  somehow  boldness  has  its  fascination,  and  he 
was  acquitted." 

Barrington's  old-fashioned  notions  were  not,  however,  to  be 
shocked  even  by  this  narrative,  and  he  whispered  to  me,  "  Unpleas- 
ant for  you,  Conyers.  Wish  it  might  have  been  otherwise,  but  it 
can't  be  helped."  We  next  turned  to  discuss  Duff  Brown's  friend, 
and  Stamer  exclaimed,  "  Why,  that  's  the  man  they  have  been  mak- 
ino'  all  this  fuss  about  in  India.  Pie  was,  or  he  said  he  was,  the 
adopted  son  of  Howard  Stapylton ;  but  the  family  never  believed 
the  adoption,  nor  consented  to  receive  him,  and  at  this  moment  a 
Moonshee,  who  acted  as  Persian  secretary  to  old  Stapylton,  has 
turned  up  with  some  curious  disclosures,  which,  if  true,  would  show 
that  this  young  fellow  held  a  very  humble  position  in  Stapylton's 
household,  and  never  was  in  his  confidence.  This  Moonshee  was  at 
Malta  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  may  be,  for  aught  I  know,  in  England 
now." 

I  asked  and  obtained  Barrington's  permission  to  tell  how  we  were 
ourselves  involved  with  this  ]\Iajor  Stapylton,  and  he  quickly  de- 
clared that,  while  the  man  stood  thus  accused,  there  could  be  no 
thought  of  according  him  a  satisfaction.  The  opinion  was  not  the 
less  stringent  that  Stamer  was  himself  an  Irishman  and  of  a  fight- 
ing family. 

I  am  not  very  sure  that  we  made  Barrington  a  convert  to  our 
opinions,  but  we  at  least,  as  we  separated  for  the  night,  left  him 
doubtful  and  hesitating.  I  had  not  been  in  bed  above  an  hour,  when 
Mr.   Witherino-  awoke  me.     lie  had   followed  us  from   Dublin  as 


176  BARRINGTON. 

soon  as  he  learned  our  departure,  and,  <ioiiig  straight  to  a  magis- 
trate, swore  informations  against  both  Barrington  and  Stapyhon. 
"  My  old  friend  will  never  forgive  me,  1  know,"  said  he ;  '*  but  if  I 
had  not  done  this,  I  should  never  have  forgiven  myself."  It  was 
arranged  between  us  that  I  was  to  mention  the  fact  of  such  informa- 
tions having  been  sworn,  without  stating  by  whom,  to  Barrington, 
and  then  persuade  him  to  get  privately  away  from  town  before  a 
warrant  could  be  served.  1  leave  you  to  imagine  that  my  task  was 
not  without  its  difficulties,  but,  before  the  day  broke,  I  succeeded  in 
inducing  him  to  leave,  and  travelling  by  post  without  halt,  we  ar- 
rived at  this  quiet  spot  yesterday  evening.  Barrington,  with  all  his 
good  temper,  is  marvellously  put  out  and  irritable,  saying,  "  This  is 
not  the  way  such  things  were  done  once  ;  "  and  peevishly  muttered, 
*'  I  wonder  what  poor  Harry  Beamish  or  Guy  Hutchinson  would 
say  to  it  all?  "  One  thing  is  quite  clear,  we  had  got  into  a  wasps' 
nest ;  Stapylton  and  his  friend  were  both  fellows  that  no  honorable 
man  would  like  to  deal  with,  and  we  must  wait  with  a  little  patience 
to  find  some  safe  road  out  of  this  troublesome  affair. 

A  letter  came  to  B.  from  the  India  House  the  evening  before  we 
left  town,  but  he  handed  it  to  me  before  he  finished  reading  it, 
merely  remarking,  "  The  old  story,  '  Yours  of  the  ninth  or  nine- 
teenth has  duly  been  received,'  &c."  But  I  found  that  it  contained 
a  distinct  admission  that  his  claim  was  not  ill-founded,  and  that  some 
arrangement  ought  to  be  come  to. 

I  now  close  my  very  lengthy  epistle,  promising,  however,  that  as 
soon  as  I  hear  from  town,  either  from  Withering  or  Stamer,  you 
shall  have  my  news.  We  are,  of  course,  close  prisoners  here  for  the 
present,  for  though  the  warrant  would  not  extend  to  Ireland,  Bar- 
rington's  apprehensions  of  being  "  served  "  with  such  a  writ  at  all 
would  induce  him  to  hide  for  six  months  to  come. 

I  scai'cely  ask  you  to  write  to  me  here,  not  knowing  our  probable 
stay  ;  but  to-morrow  may,  perhaps,  tell  us  something  on  this  head. 
Till  when,  believe  me. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Ormsby  Conyers. 

My  most  cordial  greeting  to  Miss  Barrington,  and  my  love  to  her 
niece. 

FROM   PETER    BARRINGTON   TO   HIS    SISTER   MISS    DINAH 
BARRINGTON. 

Long's  Hotel,  Boxd  Street. 
My  dear  Dinah,  —  I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  you  what  has  hap- 
pened, or  what  is  happening  around  me.     I  came  over  here  to  meet 


CORRESPONDENCE.  177 

Major  Stapylton,  but  find  that  there  is  no  such  person,  —  the  man 
■who  calls  himself  so  being  a  mere  adventurer,  who  had  taken  the 
name,  and,  I  believe,  no  small  share  of  the  goods,  of  its  owner,  got 
into  the  Bengal  army,  thence  into  our  own  service,  and  though  not 
undistinguished  for  gallantry,  seems  to  have  led  a  hfe  of  ceaseless 
roguery  and  intrigue.  He  knew  all  about  poor  George's  business, 
and  was  in  correspondence  with  those  we  believe  to  be  our  friends 
in  India,  but  who  now  turn  out  to  be  our  inveterate  enemies.  This 
we  have  got  at  by  the  confession  of  one  of  those  Oriental  fellows 
they  call  Moonshees,  who  has  revealed  all  their  intercourse  for  years 
back,  and  even  shown  a  document  setting  forth  the  number  of  rupees 
he  was  to  receive  when  Stapylton  had  been  married  to  Josephine. 
The  Moonshee  is  very  ill,  and  his  examination  can  only  be  conducted 
at  intervals ;  but  he  insists  on  a  point  of  much  importance  to  us, 
which  is,  that  Stapylton  induced  him  to  tear  out  of  the  Rajah's  Koran 
the  page  on  which  the  adoption  of  George  was  written,  and  signed 
by  the  Meer  himself.  He  received  a  large  sum  for  this  service, 
which,  however,  he  evaded  by  a  fraud,  sending  over  to  England  not 
the  real  document  itself,  but  a  copy  made  by  himself,  and  admirably 
counterfeited.  It  was  the  possession  of  this  by  Stapylton  which 
enabled  him  to  exercise  a  great  control  over  our  suit,  —  now  averring 
that  it  was  lost ;  now,  under  pledge  of  secrecy,  submitting  it  to  the 
inspection  of  some  of  the  Indian  authorities.  Stapylton,  in  a  word, 
saw  himself  in  a  position  to  establish  our  claim,  whenever  the  time 
came  that  by  making  Josephine  his  wife,  he  could  secure  the  for- 
tune. This  is  all  that  we  know  up  to  this,  but  it  is  a  great  deal,  and 
shows  in  what  a  maze  of  duplicity  and  treachery  we  have  been  in- 
volved for  more  than  twenty  years.  The  chief  point,  however,  is 
that  the  real  deed,  written  in  the  ^Nleer's  Koran,  and  torn  out  of  it 
by  the  Moonshee,  in  his  first  impulse  to  forward  it  to  Stapylton,  is 
now  extant,  and  the  Koran  itself  is  there  to  show  the  jagged  margin 
of  the  torn-out  leaf,  and  the  corresponding  page  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  volume.  Stapylton  refuses  to  utter  one  word  since  the  accusa- 
tion against  him  has  been  made ;  and  as  the  charges  stand  to  falsify- 
ing documents,  abstraction  of  funds,  and  other  derelictions  in  India, 
he  is  now  under  a  heavy  bail  to  appear  when  called  on. 

The  whole  business  has  made  me  so  nervous  and  excitable  that  I 
cannot  close  my  eyes  at  night,  and  I  feel  feverish  and  restless  all 
day.  It  is  very  shocking  to  think  of  a  man  one  has  never  injured, 
never  heard  of.  animated  with  a  spirit  so  inimical  as  to  pass  years  of 
life  in  working  ill  to  us.  He  would  appear  to  have  devoted  himself 
to  the  task  of  blackening  poor  George's  character  and  defaming  him. 
It  would  seem  that  Mr.  Howard  Stapylton  was  one  of  those  who 
took  an  active  part  against  George.  Whether  this  young  fellow 
caught  the  contagion  of  this  antipathy,  or  helped  to  feed  it,  I  cannot 

VOL.   II.  — 12 


178  BARRINGTON. 

tell ;  but  it  is  certain  that  all  the  stories  of  cruelty  and  oppression 
the  India  Board  used  to  trump  up  to  us  came  from  this  one  source; 
and  at  the  end  of  all  he  seeks  to  be  one  of  a  family  he  has  striven 
for  vears  to  ruin  and  to  crush  !  1  am  lost  in  my  efforts  to  under- 
stand this,  though  .Stamer  and  Withering  assure  me  they  can  read 
the  man  like  priut.  Indeed,  they  see  inferences  and  motives  in  fifty 
things  which  convey  nothing  to  me  ;  and  whenever  1  feel  myself 
stopped  by  some  impassable  barrier,  to  them  it  is  only  a  bridge  that 
conducts  to  a  fresh  discovery. 

The  Stapyltons  are  all  in  arms  now  that  another  sportsman  has 
•winged  the  bird  for  them  ;  and  each  day  increases  the  number  of 
accusations  against  this  unfortunate  fellow.  It  is  true,  dear  Dinah, 
that  our  own  prospects  brighten  through  all  this.  I  am  constantly 
receiving  civil  messages  and  hopeful  assurances  ;  and  even  some  of 
the  directors  have  called  to  express  sympathy  and  good  wishes.  But 
how  chilled  is  the  happiness  that  comes  dashed  with  the  misfortune 
of  another!  What  a  terrible  deal  it  detracts  from  our  joy  to  know 
that  every  throb  of  pleasure  to  ourselves  has  cost  a  pang  of  misery 
elsewhere !  I  wish  this  fellow  could  have  gone  his  way,  never  mind- 
ing us ;  or,  if  that  could  n't  be,  that  he  'd  have  grown  tired  of  perse- 
cuting those  who  had  never  harmed  him.  and  given  us  up ! 

They  are  now  assailing  him  on  all  sides.  One  has  found  that  he 
forged  a  will ;  another  that  he  falsified  a  signature ;  and  a  miserable 
creature  —  a  native  Indian,  who  happened  to  be  in  that  Manchester 
riot  the  other  day  —  has  now  been  ferreted  out  to  swear  that 
Stapylton  followed  him  through  a  suburb,  down  a  lane,  and  into  a 
brick-field,  where  he  cut  him  down  and  left  him  for  dead.  There 
seems  a  great  deal  of  venom  and  acrimony  in  all  this ;  and  though 
the  man  is  unquestionably  not  my  friend,  and  I  see  that  this  perse- 
cution continues,  I  find  it  very  hard  not  to  stand  by  him. 

As  for  Withering,  it  has  made  the  veteran  ten  years  younger.  He 
is  up  every  morning  at  five,  and  I  hear  that  he  never  goes  to  his 
room  till  long  past  midnight.  These  are  the  pastimes  that  to  such 
men  replace  the  sports  of  the  field  and  the  accidents  of  the  chase. 
They  have  their  vacillations  of  hope  and  fear,  their  moments  of 
depression  and  of  triumph  in  them  ;  and  they  run  a  fellow-creature 
to  earth  with  all  the  zest  of  a  hard  rider  after  a  fox. 

Tell  mv  darling  Fifine  that  I  am  longing  to  be  at  home  again,  — 
longing  for  the  quiet  roof,  and  the  roses  at  the  window,  and  the 
murmur  of  the  river,  and  her  own  sweet  voice  better  than  them  all. 
And  what  a  deal  of  happiness  is  in  our  power  if  we  would  only  con- 
sent to  enjoy  it,  without  running  after  some  imaginary  good,  some 
fancied  blessing,  which  is  to  crown  our  wishes  !  If  I  could  but  only 
have  cuessed  at  the  life  of  an.xiety,  doubt,  and  vacillation  the  pur- 
suit of  this  claim  would  have  cost  me,  —  the  twenty  years  of  fever,  — 


CORRESPONDENCE.  179 

I  give  you  my  word,  Dinah,  I  'd  rather  have  earned  my  daily  bread 
with  a  spade,  or,  when  too  old  for  that,  taken  to  fishing  for  a 
livelihood. 

But  why  do  I  complain  of  anything  at  this  moment  ?  When  have 
I  been  so  truly  happy  for  many  a  long  year  ?  Conyers  never  leaves 
me,  —  he  talks  of  George  from  morning  to  night.  And  I  now  see 
that  with  all  my  affection  for  that  dear  boy,  I  only  half  knew  his 
noble  nature,  his  fine  and  generous  character.  If  you  only  heard  of 
the  benevolent  things  he  has  done  ;  the  poor  fellows  he  has  sent 
home  to  their  families  at  his  own  cost ;  the  sums  he  has  transmitted 
to  wives  and  widows  of  soldiers  in  England  ;  the  children  whose  care 
and  support  he  has  provided  for  !  These  were  the  real  drains  on 
that  fortune  that  the  world  thought  wasted  and  squandered  in  ex- 
travagance. And  do  you  know,  Dinah,  there  is  a  vein  of  intense 
egotism  in  my  heart  that  I  never  so  much  as  suspected  I  I  found  it  out 
by  chance,  —  it  was  in  marking  how  far  less  I  was  touched  by  the 
highest  and  best  traits  of  my  poor  boy  than  by  the  signs  of  love  to 
myself !  and  when  Conyers  said,  •'  He  was  always  talking  about  you ; 
he  never  did  anything  important  without  the  question,  '  How  would 
"Dad"  like  this,  I  wonder?  would  "Dad"  say  "God  speed"  in 
this  case?'  And  his  first  glass  of  wine  every  day  was  to  the  health 
of  that  dear  old  father  over  the  seas." 

To  you  who  loved  him  only  a  little  less  than  myself,  I  have  no 
shame  in  the  confession  of  this  weakness.  I  suppose  Conyers,  how- 
ever, has  hit  upon  it,  for  he  harps  on  this  theme  continually,  and, 
in  sheer  pride  of  heart,  I  feel  ten  years  younger  for  it. 

Here  comes  Withering  to  say,  "  Some  more  wonderful  news; "  but 
I  have  begged  him  to  keep  it  till  I  have  sealed  this  letter,  which  if  it 
grows  any  longer,  T  '11  never  have  courage  to  send  to  you.  A  dozen 
kisses  to  Fifine  I  can,  however,  transmit  without  any  increase  to 
the  postage.  Give  my  love  to  young  Conyers;  tell  him  I  am 
charmed  with  his  father,  —  I  never  met  anyone  so  companionable 
to  me,  and  I  only  long  for  the  day  when  the  same  roof  shall  cover 
all  of  us. 

Yours,  my  dearest  sister,  ever  affectionately, 

Peter  Barrixgton. 


FROM    T.    "VyiXnERIXG,    ESQ.,    TO    MISS    DIXAH    BARRIXGTON, 
"  THE   HOME." 

Long's  Hotel,  Bond  Street. 
'My  dear  Miss  Barrixgton,  —  If  your  brother  has  deputed  me 
to  write  to  you,  it  is  not  that  he  is  ill,  but  simply  that  the  excitement 
caused  by  some  late  events  here   has  so  completely  mastered  him 


180  BARRINGTON. 

that  he  can  neither  sit  quiet  a  moment,  nor  address  him  steadily  to 
any  task.  Nor  am  I  surprised  it  should  be  so.  Old,  weather-beaten 
sailor  on  the  ocean  of  life  as  1  am,  1  fet-l  an  amount  of  fevurishness 
and  anxiety  I  am  half  ashamed  of.  Truth  is,  my  dear  Miss  Dinah,  we 
lawyers  get  so  much  habituated  to  certain  routine  rogueries  that  we 
are  almost  shocked  when  we  hear  of  a  wickedness  not  designated  by 
a  statute.  But  1  must  not  occupy  your  time  with  such  speculations, 
the  more  since  1  have  only  a  brief  space  to  give  to  that  report  of 
proceedings  to  which  1  want  your  attention.  And,  first  of  all,  I  will 
entreat  you  to  forgive  me  for  all  want  of  sequence  or  connection  in 
what  I  may  say,  since  events  have  grown  so  jumbled  together  in  my 
mind,  that  it  is  perfectly  impossible  for  me  to  be  certain  whether 
what  I  relate  should  come  before  or  after  some  other  recorded  fact. 
In  a  word,  I  mean  to  give  you  an  outline  of  our  discoveries,  without 
showing  the  track  of  our  voyage  on  the  map,  or  even  saying  how  we 
came  by  our  knowledge. 

You  are  aware,  Barrington  tells  me,  how  Stapylton  came  by  the 
name  he  bears.  Aware  that  he  was  for  some  of  his  earlier  years 
domesticated  with  old  Howard  Stapylton  at  Ghurtnapore,  in  some 
capacity  between  confidential  valet  and  secretary,  —  a  position  that 
was  at  once  one  of  subordination  and  trust,  —  it  would  now  appear 
that  a  Moonshee,  who  had  long  served  Colonel  Barrington  as  Persian 
correspondent,  came  into  Howard  Stapylton's  service  in  the  same 
capacity  :  how  introduced,  or  by  whom,  we  know  not.  AVith  this 
Moonshee,  the  young  fellow  I  speak  of  became  an  intimate  and  close 
friend,  and  it  is  supposed  obtained  from  him  all  that  knowledge  of 
your  nephew's  affairs  which  enabled  him  to  see  to  what  his  claim 
pretended,  and  what  were  its  prospects  of  success.  It  is  now  clear 
enouo-h  that  he  only  regarded  this  knowledge  at  first  as  a  means  of 
obtaining  favor  from  the  Indian  Government.  It  was,  in  fact,  by 
ceding  to  them  in  detail  certain  documents,  that  he  got  his  first  com- 
mission in  the  Madras  Fusiliers,  and  afterwards  his  promotion  in  the 
same  re£iment;  and  when,  grown  more  ambitious,  he  determined  to 
enter  the  King's  service,  the  money  for  purchase  came  from  the 
same  source.  Being,  however,  a  fellow  of  extravagant  habits,  his 
demands  grew  at  last  to  be  deemed  excessive  and  importunate;  and 
though  his  debts  had  been  paid  three  several  times,  he  was  again 
found  involving  himself  as  before,  and  again  requiring  assistance. 
This  application  was,  however,  resisted ;  and  it  was  apparently  on 
the  strength  of  that  refusal  that  he  suddenly  changed  his  tactics, 
turned  his  attention  towards  us,  and  bethought  him  that  by  forward- 
ing your  grandniece's  claim.  —  if  he  could  but  win  her  affections  in 
the  mean  while,  — he  would  secure  as  a  wife  one  of  the  richest  heir- 
esses in  Europe.  An  examination  of  dates  proves  this,  by  showing  that 
his  last  api)lication  to  the  Indian  Board  was  only  a  few  weeks  before 


CORRESPONDENCE.  181 

he  exchanged  into  the  regiment  of  Hussars  he  lately  served  with,  and 
just  then  ordered  to  occupy  Kilkenny.  In  one  word,  when  it  was  no 
longer  profitable  to  oppose  Josephine's  claim,  he  determined  to  sup- 
port it  and  make  it  his  own.  The  "  Company,"  however,  fully 
assured  that  by  the  papers  in  their  possession  they  could  prove  their 
own  cause  against  Colonel  Barrington,  resisted  all  his  menaces, — 
when,  what  does  he  do  ?  It  was  what  only  a  very  daring  and  reck- 
less fellow  would  ever  have  thought  of,  —  one  of  those  insolent  feats 
of  boldness  that  succeed  by  the  very  shock  they  create.  He  goes  to 
the  Secret  Committee  at  the  India  House  and  says:  "Of  the  eigh- 
teen documents  I  have  given  you,  seven  are  false.  I  will  not  tell 
you  which  they  are,  but  if  you  do  not  speedily  compromise  this  claim 
and  make  a  satisfactory  settlement  on  Colonel  Barrington's  daughter, 
I  '11  denounce  you,  at  all  the  peril  it  may  be  to  myself."  At  first 
they  agree,  then  they  hesitate,  then  they  treat  again,  and  so  does  the 
affair  proceed,  till  suddenly  —  no  one  can  guess  why  —  they  assume 
a  tone  of  open  defiance,  and  flatly  declare  they  will  hold  no  further 
intercourse  with  him,  and  even  threaten  with  exposure  any  demand 
on  his  part. 

This  rejection  of  him  came  at  a  critical  moment.  It  was  just 
when  the  press  had  begun  to  comment  on  the  cruelty  of  his  conduct 
at  Peterloo,  and  when  a  sort  of  cry  was  got  up  through  the  country 
to  have  him  dismissed  from  the  service.  ^Ve  all  saw,  but  never  sus- 
pected, why  he  was  so  terribly  cut  up  at  this  time.  It  was  hard  to 
believe  that  he  could  have  taken  mere  newspaper  censure  so  much 
to  heart.  We  never  guessed  the  real  cause,  never  saw  that  he  was 
driven  to  his  last  expedient,  and  obliged  to  j)rejudice  all  his  hope  of 
success  by  precipitancy.  If  he  could  not  make  Josephine  his  wife 
at  once,  on  the  very  moment,  all  was  lost.  He  made  a  bold  effort  at 
this.  Who  knows  if  he  might  not  have  succeeded  but  for  you,  as 
Josephine  was  very  young,  my  old  friend  himself  utterly  unfit  to 
cope  with  anything  but  open  hostility  ?  I  say  again,  I  'd  not  have 
answered  for  the  result  if  you  had  not  been  in  command  of  the  for- 
tress. At  all  events,  he  failed;  and  in  the  failure  lost  his  temper  so 
far  as  to  force  a  quarrel  upon  your  brother.  He  failed,  however ; 
and  no  sooner  was  he  down,  than  the  world  was  atop  of  him :  credi- 
tors, Jews,  bill-discounters,  and,  last  of  all,  the  Stajn'ltons,  who,  so 
long  as  he  bore  their  family  name  thousands  of  miles  off,  or  associ- 
ated it  with  deeds  of  gallantry,  said  nothing;  now,  that  they  saw  it 
held  up  to  attack  and  insult,  came  forward  to  declare  that  he  never 
belonged  to  them,  and  at  length  appealed  formally  to  the  Horse 
Guards,  to  learn  under  what  designation  he  had  entered  the  service, 
and  at  what  period  taken  the  name  he  went  by. 

Stapylton's  application  for  leave  to  sell  out  had  just  been  sent  in  ; 
and  once  more  the  newspapers  set  up  the  cry  that  this  man  should 


182  BARRLNGTON. 

not  be  permitted  to  carry  away  to  Aix  and  Baden  the  proceeds  of  a 
sale  which  belonged  to  his  '•  creditors."  You  know  the  world,  and  I 
need  not  tell  you  all  the  pleasant  things  it  told  this  fellow,  for  men 
are  pretty  ni<rh  as  pitiless  as  crows  to  their  wounded.  I  thought  the 
complication  had  reached  its  limit,  when  I  learned  yesterday  even- 
ing that  Stapylton  had  been  summoned  before  a  police  magistrate 
for  a  case  of  assault  committed  by  him  when  in  command  of  his 
regiment  at  Manchester.  The  case  had  evidently  been  got  up 
by  a  political  party,  who,  seeing  the  casual  unpopularity  of  the 
man,  determined  to  profit  by  it.  The  celebrated  radical  barrister, 
Ilesketh,  was  engaged  for  the  plaintiff. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  court,  it  was  so  full  that  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty 1  got  a  passage  to  a  seat  behind  the  bench.  There  were 
crowds  of  fashionables  present,  the  well-known  men  about  town,  and 
the  idlers  of  the  clubs,  and  a  large  sprinkling  of  military  men,  for 
the  news  of  the  case  had  got  wind  already. 

Staj)ylton,  dressed  in  black,  and  looking  pale  and  worn,  but  still 
dignified  and  like  a  gentleman,  had  not  a  single  friend  with  him.  I 
own  to  you,  I  felt  ashamed  to  be  there,  and  was  right  glad  when  he 
did  not  recognize  me. 

Though  the  case  opened  by  a  declaration  that  this  was  no  common 
assault  case,  wherein  in  a  moment  of  passion  a  man  had  been  be- 
trayed into  an  excess,  I  knew  the  cant  of  my  craft  too  well  to  lay 
any  stress  on  such  assertion,  and  received  it  as  the  ordinary  exordium. 
As  I  listened,  however,  I  was  struck  by  hearing  that  the  injured  man 
was  asserted  to  be  one  well  known  to  Stapylton,  with  whom  he  had 
been  for  years  in  intimacy,  and  that  the  assault  was  in  reality  a 
deliberate  attempt  to  kill,  and  not,  as  had  been  represented,  a  mere 
passing  act  of  savage  severity  committed  in  hot  blood.  "  My 
client,"  said  he,  "will  be  brought  before  you  ;  he  is  a  Hindoo,  but  so 
long  a  resident  of  this  country  that  he  speaks  our  language  fluently. 
You  shall  hear  his  story  yourselves,  and  yourselves  decide  on  its 
truthfulness.  His  wounds  are,  however,  of  so  serious  a  nature  that 
it  will  be  advisable  his  statement  should  be  a  brief  one."  As  he  said 
this,  a  dark-complexioned  fellow,  with  a  look  half-frightened,  half 
defiant,  was  carrietl  forwards  in  a  chair,  and  deposited,  as  he  sat,  on 
the  table.  He  gave  his  name  as  Lai  Adeen.  his  age  as  forty-eight, 
his  birthplace  Majamarha,  near  Agra.  He  came  to  this  country 
twelve  years  ago,  as  servant  to  an  officer  who  had  died  on  the 
passage,  and  after  many  hardships  in  his  endeavor  to  earn  a  liveli- 
hood, obtained  employment  at  Manchester  in  the  mill  of  Brandling 
and  Bennett,  where  he  was  employed  to  sweep  the  corridors  and  the 
stairs;  his  wages  were  nine  shillings  a  week.  All  this,  and  much 
more  of  the  same  kind,  he  told  simply  and  collectedly.  I  tried  to 
see  Stapylton  while  this  was  going  on,  but  a  pillar  of  the  gallery, 
against  which  he  leaned,  concealed  him  from  mv  view. 


CORRESPONDENCE.  183 

I  omit  a  great  deal,  not  without  its  interest,  but  reserving  it  for 
another  time,  and  come  to  his  account  of  the  night  on  which  he  was 
wounded.  He  said  that  as  the  cavalry  marched  on  that  morning 
into  Manchester,  he  was  struck  by  seeing  at  the  head  of  the  regiment 
one  he  had  never  set  his  eyes  on  for  years,  but  whose  features  he 
knew  too  well  to  be  deceived  in. 

'•  I  tried  to  get  near  him,  that  he  might  recognize  me,"  said  he ; 
"  but  the  crowd  kept  me  back,  and  I  could  not.  I  thought,  indeed, 
at  one  moment  he  had  seen  me,  and  knew  me;  but  as  he  turned  his 
head  away,  I  supposed  I  was  mistaken. 

'■  It  was  on  the  following  evening,  when  the  riot  broke  out  in  Mill 
Street,  that  I  saw  him  next.  I  was  standing  at  the  door  of  a 
chemii-t's  shop  when  the  cavalry  rode  by  at  a  walk.  There  was  a 
small  body  of  them  in  front,  at  about  forty  or  fifty  paces,  and  who, 
finding  a  sort  of  barricade  across  the  street,  returned  to  the  main 
body,  where  they  seemed  to  be  reporting  this.  A  cry  arose  that  the 
troops  had  been  blocked  up  at  the  rear,  and  at  the  same  instant  a 
shower  of  stones  came  from  the  side-streets  and  the  house-tops. 
Thinking  to  do  him  a  service,  I  made  my  way  towards  him  I  knew, 
in  order  to  tell  him  by  what  way  he  could  make  his  escape ;  and 
jostled  and  pushed,  and  half  ridden  down,  1  laid  my  hand  on  his 
horse's  shoidder  to  keep  myself  from  falling.  '  Stand  back,  you 
scoundrel ! '  said  he,  striking  me  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword  in  the 
face.  '  Don't  you  know  me,  master  ?  '  cried  I,  in  terror.  He  bent 
down  in  his  saddle  till  his  face  was  almost  close  to  mine,  and  then, 
reining  his  horse  back  to  give  him  room  for  a  blow,  he  aimed  a 
desperate  cut  at  me.  I  saw  it  coming,  and  threw  myself  down  ; 
but  I  rose  the  next  instant  and  ran.  The  street  was  already  so 
clear  by  this  time,  I  got  into  Cleever's  Alley,  down  Grange  Street, 
up  the  lane  that  leads  to  the  brick-fields,  and  at  last  into  the  fields 
themselves.  I  was  just  thinking  I  was  safe,  when  I  saw  a  horseman 
behind  me.  He  saw  me,  and  dashed  at  me.  I  fell  upon  my  knees 
to  ask  mercy,  and  he  gave  me  this;  "  and  he  pointed  to  the  bandages 
which  covered  his  forehead,  stained  as  they  were  with  clotted  blood. 
"  I  fell  on  my  face,  and  he  tried  to  make  his  horse  trample  on  me ; 
but  the  beast  would  not,  and  he  only  touched  me  with  his  hoof  as  he 
sprang  across  me.  He  at  last  dismounted  to  see,  j)erhap«,  if  I  were 
dead :  but  a  shout  from  some  of  the  rioters  warned  him  to  mount 
again  ;  and  he  rode  away,  and  I  lay  there  till  morning.  It  is  not 
true  that  I  was  in  prison  and  escaped,  —  that  I  was  taken  to  the 
hospital,  and  ran  away  from  it.  I  was  sheltered  in  one  of  the  clay- 
huts  of  the  brickmakers  for  several  weeks,  afraid  to  come  abroad, 
for  I  knew  that  the  Sahib  was  a  great  man  and  could  take  my 
life.  It  was  only  by  the  persuasions  of  others  that  I  left  my  hiding- 
place  and  have  come  here  to  tell  my  story." 


184  BAKRDsGTON. 

On  being  questioned  why  this  officer  could  possibly  desire  to  injure 
him,  what  grudge  one  in  such  a  station  could  bear  him,  he  owned 
he  could  not  say  ;  they  had  never  been  enemies,  and,  indeed,  it  was 
in  the  hope  of  a  friendly  recognition  and  assistance  that  he  ap- 
proached him  in  Mill  Street. 

Stapylton's  defence  was  very  brief,  given  in  an  off-hand,  frank 
manner,  which  disposed  many  in  his  favor.  He  believed  the  fellow 
meant  to  attack  him  ;  he  certainh'  caught  hold  of  his  bridle.  It  was 
not  his  intention  to  give  him  mure  than  a  passing  blow  ;  but  the 
utterance  of  a  Hindoo  curse  —  an  expression  of  gross  outrage  in  the 
P^ast  —  recalled  prejudices  long  dormant,  and  he  gave  the  rascal 
chase,  and  cut  him  over  the  head,  —  not  a  severe  cut,  and  totally 
unaccompanied  by  the  other  details  narrated. 

"  As  for  our  former  acquaintance  I  deny  it  altogether.  I  have 
seen  thousands  of  his  countrymen,  and  may  have  seen  him  ;  but,  I 
repeat,  I  never  knew  him,  nor  can  he  presume  to  say  he  knew 
me  !  " 

The  Hindoo  smiled  a  faint,  sickly  smile,  made  a  gesture  of  deep 
humilitv,  and  asked  if  he  might  put  a  few  questions  to  the 
"  Sahib." 

"  Were  you  in  Naghapoor  in  the  year  of  the  floods?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Stapylton,  firmly,  but  evidently  with  an  effort  to 
appear  calm. 

"In  the  service  of  the  great  Sahib,  Howard  Stapylton?" 

*'  In  his  service  ?  Certainly  not.  I  lived  with  him  as  his  friend, 
and  became  his  adopted  heir.*' 

"  What  office  did  you  fill  when  you  first  came  to  the  '  Residence '  ?  " 

"  I  assisted  my  friend  in  the  duties  of  his  government ;  I  was  a 
good  Oriental  scholar,  and  could  write  and  speak  a  dialect  he  knew 
nothing  of.  But  I  submit  to  the  court  that  this  examination, 
prompted  and  suborned  by  others,  has  no  other  object  than  to  insult 
me,  by  leading  to  disclosures  of  matters  essentially  private  in  their 
nature." 

"Let  me  ask  but  one  question,"  said  the  barrister.  ""\^niat  name 
did  you  bear  before  you  took  that  of  Stapylton  ?" 

"  I  refuse  to  submit  to  this  insolence,"  said  Stapylton,  rising, 
angrily.  "  If  the  laws  of  the  country  only  can  lend  themselves  to 
assist  the  persecutions  of  a  rascally  Press,  the  sooner  a  man  of  honor 
seeks  another  land  the  better.  Adjudicate  on  this  case,  sirs;  I  will 
not  stoop  to  bandy  words  with  these  men." 

"  I  now,  sir,"  said  Hesketh,  opening  his  bag  and  taking  out  a  roll 
of  papers,  "  am  here  to  demand  a  committal  for  forgery  against  the 
person  before  you,  passing  under  the  name  of  Horace  Stapylton,  but 
whose  real  designation  is  Samuel  Scott  Edwardes,  son  of  Samuel 
Edwardes,  a  name  notorious  enough  once." 


CORRESPONDENCE.  185 

I  cannot  go  on,  my  dear  friend;  the  emotions  that  overpowered 
me  at  the  time,  and  compelled  me  to  leave  the  court,  are  again 
threatening  me,  and  my  brain  reels  at  the  recollection  of  a  scene 
which,  even  to  my  fast-fading  senses,  was  the  most  trying  of  my 
life. 

To  General  Conyers  J  must  refer  you  for  what  ensued  after  I 
left.  I  cannot  even  say  who  came  home  with  me  to  the  hotel,  though 
I  am  aware  1  owed  that  kindness  to  some  one.  The  face  of  that 
unhappy  man  is  yet  before  me,  and  all  the  calm  in  which  I  have 
written  up  to  this  leaves  me,  as  I  think  over  one  of  the  most  terrible 
incidents  of  my  life. 

Your  brother,  shocked  of  course,  bears  up  bravely,  and  hopes  to 
write  to  you  to-morrow. 

One  word  of  good  cheer  before  I  close  this  miserable  record.  The 
Indian  directors  have  written  to  offer  excellent  terms  —  sjjlendidly 
liberal  terms,  Conyers  calls  them,  and  1  agree  with  him.  We  have 
had  a  very  busy  week  of  it  here,  but  it  will  be  well  requited  if  all 
that  I  now  anticipate  be  confirmed  to  us.  Barrington  begs  you  will 
tell  your  neighbors,  the  Dills,  that  Tom — 1  think  that  is  the  name 
■ — has  just  arrived  at  Southampton  with  General  Hunter,  and  will 
be  here  to-morrow  evening. 

I  have  cut  out  a  short  passage  from  the  newspaper  to  finish  my 
narrative.     I  will  send  the  full  report,  as  published,  to-morrow. 
Your  attached  friend, 

T.  Withering. 

"  The  chief  police-office  in  Marlborough  Street  was  yesterday  the 
scene  of  a  very  shocking  incident.  The  officer  whose  conduct  at 
the  head  of  his  regiment  in  ]Manchester  has  of  late  called  for  the 
almost  unanimous  reprobation  of  the  Press,  was,  while  answering 
to  a  charge  of  asrgravated  assault,  directly  charged  with  fortrerv. 
Scarcely  was  the  allegation  made,  than  he  drew  a  pistol  from  his 
pocket,  and,  placing  the  muzzle  to  his  mouth,  pulled  the  trigger. 
The  direction  of  the  weapon,  however,  was  accidentally  turned,  and 
the  ball,  instead  of  proceeding  upwards,  passed  through  the  lower 
jaw,  fracturing  the  bone,  and  created  a  terrible  wound.  It  is  sup- 
posed that  the  large  vessels  are  not  injured,  and  that  he  may  yet 
recover.  All  who  witnessed  the  scene  describe  it  as  one  of  intense 
horror. 

"  The  unhappy  man  was  at  once  removed  to  the  Middlesex  Hospi- 
tal. He  has  not  uttered  a  word  since  the  event ;  and  when  asked  if 
there  were  any  relatives  or  friends  whom  he  wished  might  be  sent 
for,  merely  shook  his  head  negatively.  It  is  said  that  when  the 
result  of  the  consultation  held  on  him  was  announced  to  him  as 
favorable,  he  seemed  rather  grieved  than  otherwise  at  the  tidings." 


186  BARRLNGTON. 

FROM    PETEK    BARRINGTON    TO    DINAH,   HIS    SISTER. 

My  deak  Dinah,  —  How  glad  am  I  to  tell  you  that  we  leave 
this  to-morrow,  and  a  large  party  of  us,  too,  all  for  "  The  Home." 
Put  young  Conyers  in  my  dressing-room,  so  that  the  large  green 
bedroom  can  be  free  for  the  General,  at  least  for  one  of  the  generals 
—  for  we  have  another  here,  Hunter,  wlio  will  also  be  our  guest. 
Then  there  will  be  ^^'ithering.  As  for  myself,  1  can  be  stowed  away 
anywhere.  What  happiness  would  there  be  to  us  all  at  such  a 
meeting,  if  it  were  not  for  that  poor  wretch  who  lies  in  all  liis  agony 
a  few  streets  off,  and  who  is  never  out  of  my  thoughts.  I  went 
twice  to  the  hospital  to  see  him.  The  first  time  I  lost  courage,  and 
came  away.  The  second,  I  sent  up  my  name,  and  asked  if  he  would 
wish  to  see  me.  The  only  answer  I  got  was  my  visiting-card  torn 
in  two  1  How  hard  it  is  for  an  injurer  to  forgive  him  he  has  in- 
jured I  I  have  arranged  with  the  Stapyltons,  however,  who  instigated 
the  charge  of  forgery,  not  to  press  it ;  at  least,  they  are  to  take  bail, 
and  the  bail  will  be  forfeited,  so  I  understand  it;  but  AVithering  will 
explain  all  more  clearly. 

Our  own  affairs  are  all  as  bright  and  prosperous  as  our  best 
wishes  could  desire.  The  Council  have  had  all  the  evidence  before 
them,  and  the  Moonshee  has  produced  his  copy  of  the  Koran,  with 
the  torn  leaf  fitting  into  the  jagged  margin,  and  George  is  vindicated 
at  last  in  everything.  His  loyalty,  liis  disinterestedness,  his  honesty, 
all  established.  The  ceremony  of  his  marriage  has  been  fully  recog- 
nized ;  and  General  Conyers  tells  me  that  the  lowest  estimate  of  our 
,claim  is  a  little  short  of  a  (juarter  of  a  miUion  sterling.  He  counsels 
me  npt  to  be  exigent  in  my  terms ;  if  lie  knew  me  better,  perhaps, 
he  would  not  have  deemed  the  advice  so  necessary. 

AVhat  will  Fifine  say  to  all  this  wealth?  Will  she  want  to  go 
back  to  India,  and  be  a  princess,  and  ride  about  on  an  elephant ;  or 
will  she  reconcile  herself  to  such  humble  ways  as  ours  ?  I  am  most 
eager  to  hear  how  she  will  take  the  tidings.  Withering  says  it  will 
not  spoil  her  ;  that  knowing  nothing  of  life  in  its  moneyed  relations, 
she  runs  no  risk  of  being  carried  away  by  any  vulgar  notions  of  her 
own  importance  througli  riches. 

Convers  has  never  once  hinted  at  his  son's  pretensions  since  Fifine 
has  become  an  heiress  ;  and  I  fancy  —  it  may  be  only  fancy  —  is  a 
shade  or  so  cool  towards  me,  so  that  T  have  not  referred  to  them. 
But  what  can  I  do  ?  I  cannot  offer  him  mv  granddaughter,  nor  — 
if  what  you  tell  me  be  true,  that  they  are  always  quarrelling  —  would 
the  proposal  be  a  great  kindness  to  either. 

Here  is  Tom  Dill,  too,  and  what  a  change  I  He  is  the  image  of 
Polly ;  and  a  fine,  well-grown,  straight-figured  fellow,  that  looks  you 
manfully  in  the  face,  —  not  the  slouching,  loutish,  shamefaced  crea- 
ture you  remember  him.     Hunter  has  had  him  gazetted  to  an  En- 


CORRESPONDENCE.  187 

sif^iicy  in  the  lOtb  Foot,  and  he  will,  or  T  much  mistake  him,  do 
honest  credit  to  the  recommendation.  Hunter  takes  him  about  svith 
him  wherever  he  goes,  telling  all  about  the  shipwreck  and  Tom's 
"•allantrv,  — enough  to  turn  the  lad's  head  with  vanity,  but  that  he  is 
a  fine,  simple-hearted  creature,  who  thinks  very  little  of  himself  or 
his  achievement.  He  seems  to  have  no  other  thought  than  what 
Polly,  his  sister,  will  say  and  think  of  him. 

He  also  will  be  one  of  our  party  ;  that  is  if  I  can  persuade  him  to 
make  "  The  Home  "  his  headquarters  while  our  friends  are  with  us. 
What  a  strong  muster  we  shall  be ;  and  how  we  '11  astonisli  that  old 
bin  of  ^Madeira,  Dinah  !  By  the  way,  I  have  been  rather  boastful 
about  it  to  Conyers,  and  let  some  bottles  have  the  sun  on  them  for 
a  couple  of  hours  every  day. 

I  should  like  to  try  my  chance  once  more  of  seeing  that  poor  fellow 
at  the  hospital,  but  Withering  will  not  hear  of  it ;  he  got  positively 
ill-tempered  at  the  bare  mention  of  such  a  wish.  Even  Conyers 
says,  "  Better  not,"  with  an  air  that  may  mean  for  the  sick  man's 
sake  as  much  as  my  own. 

A  little  more  of  this  life  of  noise,  confusion,  and  excitement  would 
finish  me.  This  city  existence,  with  its  incessant  events  and  its  never 
ending  anxieties,  is  like  walking  in  a  high  wind  with  the  chimney- 
pots falling  and  crashing  on  every  side  of  one,  —  while  I  am  pitying 
the  fellow  whose  skull  is  just  cracked,  I  am  forced  to  remember  that 
my  own  is  in  danger.  And  yet  there  are  people  who  like  it ;  who  tell 
you  that  out  of  London  there  is  no  living  ;  that  the  country  is  a  grave, 
aorcrravated  by  the  consciousness  that  one  is  dead  and  buried  there  ! 

On  Tuesday,  — Wednesday,  at  farthest,  —  Dinah,  look  out  for  us. 
I  do  not  believe  there  is  that  prize  in  the  wheel  that  would  tempt  me 
again  away  from  home !  and  till  I  reach  it,  believe,  my  dear  Dinah, 
Your  loving  brother, 

Peter  Barrington. 

I  have  just  seen  Conyers.  He  met  Sir  Harvey  Hethrington,  the 
Home  Secretary,  this  morning,  and  they  got  into  a  talk  over  our 
business,  and  H.  said  how  cruelly  I  had  been  treated  all  this  time 
back,  and  how  unfairly  poor  George's  memory  was  dealt  with. 
"  We  want,"  said  he,  "  to  show  your  friend  our  respect  and  our 
svmpathy,  and  we  have  thought  of  submitting  his  name  to  the  King 
for  a  Baronetcy.  How  do  you  think  Mr.  Barrington  himself  would 
take  our  project?  "  "I  '11  find  out,"  said  Conyers,  as  he  told  me  of 
the  conversation.  "  If  they  don't  let  me  off,  Conyers,"  said  I,  "  ask 
them  to  commute  it  to  Knighthood,  for  the  heralds'  fees  will  be 
smaller ;  but  I  '11  try,  meanwhile,  if  I  can't  escape  either."  So  that 
now,  Dinah,  you  may  expect  me  on  Saturday.  I  told  you  what  a 
place  this  was ;  you  are  never  sure  what  may  befall  you  from  one 
moment  to  another ! 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    END. 

Fortune  had  apparently  ceased  to  persecute  Peter  Barring- 
ton.  The  Minister  did  not  press  honors  upon  him,  and  he 
was  free  to  wait  for  his  companions,  and  in  their  company 
he  returned  to  Ireland. 

The  news  of  his  success  —  great  as  it  was,  magnified 
still  more  —  had  preceded  him  to  his  own  country ;  and  he 
was  met,  as  all  lucky  men  are  met,  and  will  be  met  to  the 
end  of  time,  by  those  who  know  the  world  and  feelingly 
estimate  that  the  truly  profitable  are  the  fortunate ! 

Not  that  he  remarked  how  many  had  suddenly  grown 
so  cordial ;  what  troops  of  passing  acquamtances  had  become 
in  a  moment  warm  friends,  well-wishing  and  affectionate. 
He  never  so  much  as  suspected  that  '*Luck"  is  a  deity 
worshipped  by  thousands,  who  even  in  the  remotest  way  are 
not  to  be  benefited  by  it.  He  had  always  regarded  the 
world  as  a  far  better  thing  than  many  moralists  would 
allow  it  to  be,  —  unsteady,  wilful,  capricious,  if  3'ou  like  — 
but  a  well-intentioned,  kindly  minded  world,  that  would  at 
all  times,  where  passion  or  prejudice  stood  aloof,  infinitely 
rather  do  the  generous  thing  than  the  cruel  one. 

Little  wonder,  then,  if  he  journeyed  in  a  sort  of  ovation ! 
At  every  change  of  horses  in  each  village  they  passed,  there 
was  sure  to  be  some  one  who  wanted  to  shake  his  hand. 
People  hobbled  out  on  crutches  and  quitted  sick-beds  to  say 
how  "  glad  they  were;  "  mere  acquaintances  most  of  them, 
who  felt  a  strange  mysterious  sort  of  self-consequence  in 
fancying  themselves  for  the  moment  the  friends  of  Peter 
Barrington,  the  millionnaire  !  This  is  all  ver}'  curious,  but  it 
is  a  fact,  —  a  fact  which  I  make  no  pretence  to  explain, 
however. 


THE   END.  189 

"  And  here  comes  the  heartiest  well-wisher  of  them  all!  " 
cried  Barriugtou,  as  he  saw  his  sister  standing  on  the  road- 
side, near  the  gate.  AVith  thoughtful  delicacy,  his  com- 
panions lingered  behind,  while  he  went  to  meet  and  embraced 
her.  "Was  I  not  a  true  prophet,  Dinah  dear?  Did  I  not 
often  foretell  this  day  to  you? "  said  he,  as  he  drew  her  arm, 
and  led  her  along,  forgetting  all  about  his  friends  and 
companions. 

"  Have  they  paid  the  money,  Peter?"  said  she,  sharply. 

"  Of  course  they  have  not ;  such  things  are  not  settled 
like  the  fare  of  a  hackney-coach.  But  our  claim  is  acknowl- 
edged, and,  fifty  thousand  times  better,  George  Barring- 
ton's  name  absolved  from  every  shadow  of  an  imputation." 

"  What  is  the  amount  they  agree  to  give?  " 

"  Upon  my  life,  I  don't  know,  —  that  is,  I  don't  recollect, 
there  were  so  many  interviews  and  such  discussions ;  but 
Withering  can  tell  you  everything.  Withering  knows  it 
all.  Without  him  and  Conyers  I  don't  know  how  I  could 
have  got  on.  If  you  had  heard  how  he  spoke  of  George 
at  the  Council !  '  You  talk  of  my  services,'  said  he  ;  '  they 
are  no  more  fit  to  be  compared  with  those  of  Colonel  Bar- 
rington,  than  are  my  petty  grievances  with  the  gross  wrongs 
that  lie  on  his  memory.'  Withering  was  there;  he  heard 
the  words,  and  described  the  effect  of  them  as  actually 
overwhelming." 

"  And  Withering  believes  the  whole  thing  to  be  settled?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  he  does!  Why  should  he  oppose  his  belief 
to  that  of  the  whole  world?  Why,  my  dear  Dinah,  it  is 
not  one,  nor  two,  but  some  hundreds  of  people  have  come 
to  wish  me  joy.  They  had  a  ti'iumphal  arch  at  Naas,  with 
'  Welcome  to  Barrington '  over  it.  At  Carlow,  Fishbourne 
came  out  with  the  corporation  to  offer  me  congratulations." 

She  gave  a  hasty,  impatient  shake  of  the  head,  but 
repressed  the  sharp  reply  that  almost  trembled  on  her 
lips. 

"By  George!"  cried  he,  "it  does  one's  heart  good  to 
witness  such  a  burst  of  generous  sentiment.  You  'd  have 
thought  some  great  national  benefit  had  befallen,  or  that 
some  one — his  country's  idol  —  had  just  reaped  the  recom- 
pense  of   his   great  services.     They  came   flocking   out   of 


190  BARRINGTON. 

the  towns  as  we  whirled  past,  cheering  lustily,  and  shouting, 
'Barrington  forever  ! '  " 

"  I  detest  a  mob!  "  said  she,  pursing  up  her  lips. 

"These  were  no  mobs,  Dinah;  these  were  groups  of  hon- 
est fellows,  with  kind  hearts  and  generous  wishes." 

Another,  but  more  decisive,  toss  of  the  head  warned  Peter 
that  the  discussion  had  gone  far  enough ;  indeed  she  almost 
said  so,  by  asking  abrupll}',  "  AVhat  is  to  be  done  about  the 
boy  Conj'ers?     He  is  madly  in  love  with  Josephine." 

"  Marry  her,  I  should  say  !  " 

"  As  a  cure  for  the  complaint,  I  suppose.  But  what  if 
she  will  not  have  him  ?  What  if  she  declares  that  she  "d  like 
to  go  back  to  the  convent  again, — that  she  hates  the  world, 
and  is  sorr}'  she  ever  came  out  into  it,  —  that  she  was  hap- 
pier with  the  sisters  —  " 

"  Has  she  said  all  this  to  you,  sister?" 

"Certainly  not,  Peter,"  said  Dinah,  bridling  up.  "  These 
were  confidences  imparted  to  the  young  man  himself.  It 
was  he  told  me  of  them  :  he  came  to  me  last  night  in  a  state 
bordering  on  distraction.  He  was  hesitating  whether  he 
would  not  throw  himself  into  the  river  or  go  into  a  marching 
regiment." 

"This  is  only  a  laughing  matter,  then,  Dinah?"  said 
Peter,  smiling. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  brother!  He  did  not  put  the  al- 
ternatives so  much  in  juxtaposition  as  I  have ;  but  they  lay 
certainly  in  that  manner  on  his  thoughts.  But  when  do 
your  friends  arrive?  I  thought  they  were  to  have  come 
with  you?" 

"  "What  a  head  I  have,  Dinah !  They  are  all  here ;  two 
carriages  of  them.  I  left  them  on  the  road  when  I  rushed 
on  to  meet  you.     Oh,  here  the}'  come  !  here  they  are  !  " 

"  My  brother's  good  fortune,  gentlemen,  has  made  him 
seem  to  forget  what  adversit}'  never  did ;  but  I  believe  you 
all  know  how  welcome  3-ou  are  here?  Your  son,  General 
Conyers,  thought  to  meet  you  earlier,  by  taking  boat  down 
to  the  village,  and  the  girls  went  with  him.  Your  friend, 
Polly  Dill,  is  one  of  them.  General  Hunter." 

Having  thus,  with  one  sweep  of  the  scythe,  cut  down  a 
little  of  all  around  her,  she  led  the  way  towards  the  cottage, 


I 


THE   END.  191 

accepting  the  arm  of  Geueral  Couyers  with  an  antiquated 
grace  that  sorely  tried  Hunter's  good  manners  not  to 
smile  at. 

"I  know  what  you  are  looking  at,  what  you  are  think- 
ing of,  Barringtou,"  said  Withering,  as  he  saw  the  other 
stand  a  moment  gazing  at  the  landscape  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  river. 

"  I  don't  think  you  do,  Tom,"  said  he,  smiling. 

"  You  were  thinking  of  buying  that  mountain  yonder. 
You  were  saying  to  yourself,  '  I  '11  be  the  owner  of  that 
beech  wood  before  I  'm  a  month  older  ! '  " 

"•Upon  my  life,  you're  right!  though  I  haveu't  the  re- 
motest notion  of  how  you  guessed  it.  The  old  fellow  that 
owns  it  shall  name  his  own  terms  to-morrow  morning. 
Here  come  the  girls,  and  they  've  got  Tom  Dill  with  them. 
How  the  fellow  rows !  and  Fifine  is  laughing  away  at  Con- 
yers's  attempt  to  keep  the  boat  straight.  Look  at  Huuter, 
too  ;  he  's  off  to  meet  them.  Is  he  '  going  in  '  for  the  great 
heiress  prize,  eh,  Tom?  "  said  he,  with  a  knowing  smile. 

Though  Hunter  assisted  the  ladies  to  land  with  becoming 
gallantry,  he  did  not  offer  his  arm  to  Josephine,  but  dropped 
behind,  where  Tom  Dill  brought  up  the  rear  with  his  sister. 

"We  have  no  confidences  that  you  may  not  listen  to," 
said  Polly,  as  she  saw  that  he  hesitated  as  to  joining  them. 
"Tom,  indeed,  has  been  telling  of  yourself,  and  you  may 
not  care  to  hear  your  own  praises." 

"  If  they  come  from  ;iou,  I  'm  all  ears  for  them." 

"Isn't  that  pretty,  Tom?  Did  you  ever  hear  any  one 
ask  more  candidly  for  —  no,  not  flaitery  —  what  is  it  to  be 
called?" 

Tom,  however,  could  not  answer,  for  he  had  stopped  to 
shake  hands  with  Darby,  whose  "  May  I  never!  "  had  just 
arrested  him. 

"  What  an  honest,  fine-hearted  fellow  it  is !  "  said  Hunter, 
as  they  moved  on,  leaving  Tom  behind. 

"  But  if  you  had  n't  found  it  out,  who  would  have  known, 
or  who  acknowledged  it?  /know  —  for  he  has  told  me  — 
all  3'ou  have  been  to  him." 

"  Pooh,  pooh!  nothing;  .less  than  nothing.  He  owes  all 
that  he  is  to  himself.     He  is  one  of  those  fellows  who,  once 


192  BARRINGTON. 

they  get  into  the  right  groove  in  life,  are  sure  to  go  ahead. 
Not  even  ijoii  could  make  a  doctor  of  him.  Nature  made 
him  a  soldier." 

Polly  blushed  slightly  at  the  coniplitneut  to  those  teach- 
ings she  believed  a  secret,  and  he  v/ent  on,  — 

"  What  has  the  world  been  doing  here  since  I  left?" 

"Pretty  much  what  it  did  while  you  w^ere  here.  It 
looked  after  its  turnips  and  asparagus,  took  care  of  its 
young  calves,  fattened  its  chickens,  grumbled  at  the  dear- 
ness  of  everything,  and  wondered  when  Dr.  Buck  would 
preach  a  new  sermon." 

''  No  deaths,  —  no  marriages?  " 

"  None.  There  was  only  one  candidate  for  both,  and  he 
has  done  neither,  —  Major  M'Cormick." 

"  Confound  that  old  fellow !  I  had  forgotten  him.  Do 
you  remember  the  last  day  I  saw  you  here?  We  were  in 
the  garden,  talking,  as  we  believed,  without  witnesses. 
Well,  he  overheard  us.  He  heard  every  word  we  said,  and 
a  good  deal  more  that  we  did  not  say." 

"  Yes ;  so  he  informed  me,  a  few  days  after." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  had  the  impertinence  —  " 

"The  frankness.  General, — the  charming  candor, — to 
tell  me  that  I  was  a  very  clever  girl,  and  not  to  be  discour- 
aged by  one  failure  or  two  ;  that  with  time  and  perseverance  — 
I  think  he  said  perseverance  —  some  one  was  sure  to  take  a 
fancy  to  me :  he  might  not,  perhaps,  be  handsome,  possibly 
not  very  young ;  his  temper,  too,  might  chance  to  be  more 
tart  than  was  pleasant;  in  a  word,  he  drew  such  a  picture 
that  I  had  to  stop  him  short,  and  ask  was  he  making  me  a 
proposal?     He  has  never  spoken  to  me  since !  " 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  could  break  his  neck,"  muttered  Hunter, 
below  his  breath;  then  added,  "Do  yon  remember  that  I 
asked  leave  to  write  to  you  once,  —  only  once  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  remember  it." 

"  And  3'ou  would  not  answer  me.  You  shook  j^our  head, 
as  though  to  say  the  permission  would  be  of  no  service  to 
me ;  that  I  might  write,  but,  you  understand,  that  it  would 
only  be  to  indulge  in  a  delusion  —  " 

"  What  an  expressive  shake  of  the  head  that  meant  all 
that !  " 


THE  E^•D  193 

"  Ah !  there  it  is  again  ;  never  serious,  never  grave  !  And 
now  I  want  3'ou  to  be  both.  Since  I  lauded  in  England,  I 
ran  down  for  a  day  to  Devonshire.  I  saw  an  old  aunt  of 
mine,  who,  besides  being  very  rich,  has  retained  no  small 
share  of  the  romance  of  her  life.  She  always  had  a  dash  of 
hero-worship  about  her,  and  so  I  took  down  Tom  with  me  to 
show  her  the  gallant  fellow  whose  name  was  in  all  the  news- 
papers, and  of  whom  all  the  world  was  talking.  She  was 
charmed  with  him,  —  with  his  honest,  manly  simplicity,  his 
utter  want  of  all  affectation.  She  asked  me  ten  times  a  day, 
'Can  I  not  be  of  service  to  him?  Is  there  no  step  he 
wishes  to  purchase?  Is  there  nothing  we  can  do  for  him?' 
'Nothing,'  said  1;  '  he  is  quite  equal  to  his  own  fortune.' 
'  He  may  have  brothers,'  said  she.  '  He  has  a  sister,'  said 
I,  —  'a  sister  who  has  made  him  all  that  he  is,  and  it  was 
to  repay  her  love  and  affection  that  he  has  shown  himself 
to  be  the  gallant  fellow  we  have  seen  him.'  '  Tell  her  to 
come  and  see  me.  —  that  is,'  said  she,  correcting  herself, 
'  give  her  a  letter  I  shall  write,  and  persuade  her,  if  you  can, 
to  oblige  me  by  doing  what  I  ask.'  Here  is  the  letter ;  don't 
say  no  till  you  have  read  it.  Nay.  don't  shake  your  bead 
so  deploringly  ;  things  may  be  hard  without  being  impossible. 
At  all  events,  read  her  note  carefully.  It 's  a  droll  old 
hand,  but  clear  as  print." 

"I'll  read  it,"  said  she,  looking  at  the  letter;  but  the 
sorrowful  tone  revealed  how  hopelessly  she  regarded  the 
task. 

"Ask  Tom  about  her;  and  make  Tom  tell  you  what  she 
is  like.  Bj'  Jove  !  he  has  such  an  admiration  for  the  old 
damsel,  I  was  half  afraid  he  meant  to  be  my  uncle." 

They  reached  the  cottage  laughing  pleasantly  over  this 
conceit,  and  Polly  hurried  up  to  her  room  to  read  the 
letter.  To  her  surprise,  Josephine  was  there  already,  her 
eyes  very  red  with  crying,  and  her  cheeks  flushed  and 
feverish-looking. 

"  My  dearest  Fifine,  what  is  all  this  for,  on  the  happiest 
day  of  your  life?  "  said  she,  drawing  her  arm  around  her. 

"It's  all  your  fault, — all  your  doing,"  said  the  other, 
averting  her  head,  as  she  tried  to  disengage  herself  from 
the  embrace. 

TOL.    II.  — 13 


194  BARRINGTON. 

"  My  fault, — my  doing?  What  do  you  mean,  dearest, 
what  can  I  have  done  to  deserve  this  ?  " 

' '  You  know  very  well  what  you  have  done.  You  knew 
all  the  time  how  it  would  turn  out." 

Polly  protested  firmly  that  she  could  not  imagine  what 
was  attributed  to  her,  and  only  after  a  considerable  time 
obtained  the  explanation  of  the  charge.  Indeed  it  was  not 
at  first  easy  to  comprehend  it,  given,  as  it  was,  in  the  midst 
of  tears,  and  broken  at  every  word  by  sobs.  The  substance 
was  this :  that  Fifine,  in  an  attempted  imitation  of  Polly's 
manner, —  an  effort  to  copy  the  coquetting  Avhich  she  fancied 
to  be  so  captivating, —  had  ventured  to  trifle  so  far  with 
young  Conyers,  that,  after  submitting  to  every  alternative  of 
hope  and  fear  for  weeks  long,  he  at  last  gave  way,  and  deter- 
mined to  leave  the  house,  quit  the  country,  and  never  meet 
her  more.  "  It  was  to  be  like  you  I  did  it,"  cried  she,  sob- 
bing bitterly,   "and  see  what  it  has  led  me  to." 

"Well,  dearest,  be  really  like  me  for  half  an  hour;  that 
is,  be  very  patient  and  very  quiet.  Sit  down  here,  and 
don't  leave  this  till  I  come  back  to  you." 

Polly  kissed  her  hot  cheek  as  she  spoke  -,  and  the  other  sat 
down  where  she  was  bade,  with  the  half-obedient  sulkiness 
of  a  naughty  child. 

"Tell  young  Mr.  Conyers  to  come  and  speak  to  me.  I 
shall  be  in  the  garden,"  said  she  to  his  servant;  and  before 
she  had  gone  many  paces  he  was  beside  her. 

"Oh,  Polly  dearest!  have  you  any  hope  for  me?"  cried 
he,  in  agony.     "  If  you  knew  the  misery  I  am  enduring." 

"  Come  and  take  a  walk  with  me,"  said  she,  passing  her 
arm  within  his.  "  I  think  you  will  like  to  hear  what  I  have 
to  tell  you." 

The  revelation  was  not  a  very  long  one ;  and  as  they 
passed  beneath  the  room  where  Josephine  sat,  Polly  called 
out,  "Come  down  here,  Fifine,  we  are  making  a  bouquet; 
try  if  you  can  find  '  heart's-ease.' " 

What  a  happy  party  met  that  day  at  dinner !  All  were  in 
their  best  spirits,  each  contented  with  the  other.  "  Have 
you  read  my  aunt's  note?"  whispered  Hunter  to  Polly,  as 
they  passed  into  the  drawing-room. 


THE  END.  195 

"Yes.  I  showed  it  also  to  Miss  Dinah.  I  asked  her 
advice." 

"And  what  did  she  say,  — what  did  she  advise?  " 

"  She  said  she'd  think  over  it  and  tell  me  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  !  Why  not  now, —  why  not  at  once?  "  cried 
he,  impatiently.  "  I  '11  speak  to  her  myself ;  "  and  he  hurried 
to  the  little  room  where  Miss  Dinah  was  making  tea. 

It  was  not  a  very  long  interview ;  and  Hunter  returned, 
fond,  radiant,  and  triumphant.  "  She 's  the  cleverest  old 
woman  I  ever  met  in  my  life,"  said  he;  "and  the  best, 
besides,  after  my  Aunt  Dorothy.  She  said  that  such  an 
invitation  as  that  was  too  cordial  to  be  coldly  declined ;  that 
it  meant  more  —  far  more  —  than  a  politeness  ;  that  you 
ought  to  go,  yes,  by  all  means ;  and  if  there  was  any  diffi- 
culty about  the  journey,  or  any  awkwardness  in  travelling  so 
far,  why,  there  was  an  easy  remedy  for  it,  as  well  as  for 
meeting  my  aunt  a  perfect  stranger." 

"  And  what  was  that?  " 

"To  go  as  her  niece,  dearest  Polly, —  to  be  the  wife  of 
a  man  who  loves  you." 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  have  so  much  to  say  to  each  other 
that  you  won't  take  tea?"  cried  Aunt  Dinah;  while  she 
whispered  to  Withering,  ' '  I  declare  we  shall  never  have  a 
sociable  moment  till  they  're  all  married  off,  and  learn  to 
conduct  themselves  like  reasonable  creatures." 

Is  it  not  the  best  testimony  we  can  give  to  happiness,  that 
it  is  a  thing  to  feel  and  not  describe,  —  to  be  enjoyed,  but 
not  pictured?  It  is  like  a  debt  that  I  owe  to  my  reader,  to 
show  him  "  The  Home"  as  it  was  when  blissful  hearts  were 
gathered  under  its  roof ;  and  yet,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  cannot 
acquit  myself  of  it.  To  say  that  there  were  old  people  with 
their  memories  of  the  past,  and  young  ones  with  their  hopes 
of  the  future ;  that  there  were  bygones  to  sigh  over,  and 
vistas  to  gaze  at,  conveys  but  little  of  the  kindliness  by 
which  heart  opened  to  heart,  and  sorrow  grew  lighter  by 
mutual  endurance,  and  joys  became  brighter  as  they  were 
imparted  to  another. 

"So  I  find,"  said  Barrington,  as  they  sat  at  breakfast 
together,  "  that  Josephine  insists  on  going  back  to  the  con- 


196  BARRINGTON. 

vent,  and  Fred  is  resolved  on  an  exchange  into  the  Infantry, 
and  is  oflf  for  Canada  immediately." 

*'  Not  a  bit  of  it !  "  broke  in  Hunter,  who  remarked  noth- 
ing of  the  roguish  drollery  qf  old  Peter's  eye,  nor  even 
suspected  that  the  speech  was  made  in  mockery.  "  Master 
Fred  is  coming  with  me  into  Kilkenny  this  morning,  for  a 
visit  to  the  Dean,  or  whatever  he  is,  who  dispenses  those 
social  handcuffs  they  call  licenses." 

"  AVhy,  they  were  quarrelling  all  the  morning,"  repeated 
Barringtou. 

"So  we  were,  sir,  and  so  we  mean  to  do  for  many  a  year," 
said  Josephine;  "and  to  keep  us  in  countenance,  I  hear 
that  General  Hunter  and  Polly  have  determined  to  follow 
our  example." 

"  What  do  I  hear.  Miss  Dill?"  said  Miss  Barrington,  with 
an  affected  severity. 

"  I'm  afraid,  madam,  it  is  true  ;  there  has  been  what  my 
father  calls  '  a  contagious  endemic '  here  lately,  and  we  have 
both  caught  it ;  but  ours  are  mild  cases,  and  we  hope  soon 
to  recover." 

"AVhat's  this  I  see  here?"  cried  Fred,  who,  to  conceal 
his  shame,  had  taken  up  the  newspaper.  "Listen  to  this: 
'The  notorious  Stapylton,  alias  Edwardes,  whose  case  up 
to  yesterday  was  reported  all  but  hopeless,  made  his  escape 
from  the  hospital,  and  has  not  since  been  heard  of.  It 
would  appear  that  some  of  the  officials  had  been  bribed  to 
assist  his  evasion,  and  a  strict  inquiry  will  be  immediately 
set  on  foot  into  the  affair.'" 

"Do  you  think  he  has  got  over  to  France?"  whispered 
Peter  to  AYithering. 

"  Of  course  he  has  ;  the  way  was  all  open,  and  everything 
ready  for  him !  " 

■  "Then  I  am  thoroughly  happy!  "  cried  Barrington,  "  and 
there's  not  even  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  over  our  present 
sunshine." 


THE  END. 


TALES    OF    THE    TRAINS: 


Some  Chapters  of  Eailroati  i^omance. 


BY  TILBURY  TRAMP, 


QUEEN  S   MESSENGER. 


Bang,  bang,  bang !        ' 
Shake,  shiver,  and  throb; 

The  sound  of  our  feet 

Is  the  piston's  beat, 

And  the  opening  valve  our  sob  I 


INTRODUCTION. 


Let  no  enthusiast  of  the  pastoral  or  romantic  school,  no 
fair  reader  with  eyes  "  deeply,  darkly,  beautifully  blue," 
sneer  at  the  title  of  my  paper.  I  have  written  it  after 
much  and  mature  meditation. 

It  would  be  absurd  to  deny  that  the  great  and  material 
changes  which  our  progress  in  civilization  and  the  arts 
effect,  should  not  impress  literature  as  well  as  manners  ; 
that  the  tone  of  our  thoughts,  as  much  as  the  temper  of 
our  actions,  should  not  sympathize  with  the  giant  strides 
of  inventive  genius.  We  have  but  to  look  abroad,  and 
confess  the  fact.  The  facilities  of  travel  which  our  day 
confers,  have  given  a  new  and  a  different  impulse 
to  the  human  mind;  the  man  is  no  longer  deemed  a 
wonder  who  has  journeyed  some  hundred  miles  from 
home,  —  the  miracle  will  soon  be  he  who  has  not  been 
everywhere. 

To  persist,  therefore,  in  dwelling  on  the  same  fea- 
tures, the  same  fortunes,  and  the  same  characters  of 
mankind,  while  all  around  us  is  undergoing  a  great  and 
a  formidable  revolution,  appears  to  me  as  insane  an  effort 
as  though  we  should  try  to  preserve  our  equilibrium 
during  the  shock  of  an  earthquake. 

The  stage  lost  much  of  its  fascination  when,  by  the 
diffusion  of   literature,  men  could  read  at   home  what 


200  INTRODUCTION. 

once  they  were  obliged  to  go  abroad  to  see.  Historical 
novels,  in  the  same  way,  failed  to  produce  the  same 
excitement,  as  the  readers  became  more  conversant  witli 
the  passages  of  history  which  suggested  them.  The 
battle-and-murder  school,  the  raw-head-and-bloody-bones 
literature,  pales  before  the  commonest  coroner's  inquest 
in  the  "  Times  ; "  and  even  Boz  can  scarce  stand  com- 
petition with  the  vie  intime  of  a  union  workhouse. 
What,  then,  is  to  be  done  ?  Quce  regio  terrce  remains  to 
be  explored  ?  Have  we  not  ransacked  every  clime  and 
country,  —  from  the  Russian  to  the  Red  Man,  from  the 
domestic  habits  of  Sweden  to  the  wild  life  of  the 
Prairies  ?  Have  we  not  had  kings  and  kaisers,  popes, 
cardinals,  and  ministers,  to  satiety  ?  The  land  service 
and  the  sea  service  have  furnished  their  quota  of  scenes ; 
and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  the  revenue  and  coast-guard 
may  have  been  pressed  into  the  service.  Personalities 
have  been  a  stock  in  trade  to  some,  and  coarse  satires  on 
well-known  characters  of  fashionable  life  have  made  the 
reputation  of  others. 

From  the  palace  to  the  poorhouse,  from  the  forum  to 
the  factory,  all  has  been  searched  and  ransacked  for  a 
new  view  of  life  or  a  new  picture  of  manners.  Some 
have  even  gone  into  the  recesses  of  the  earth,  and  inves- 
tigated the  arcana  of  a  coal-mine,  in  the  hope  of  eliciting 
a  novelty.  Yet,  all  this  time,  the  great  reformer  has 
been  left  to  accomplish  his  operations  without  note  or 
comment;  and  while  thundering  along  the  earth  or 
ploughing  the  sea  with  giant  speed  and  giant  power, 
men  have  not  endeavored  to  track  his  influence  upon 
humanity,  nor  work  out  any  evidences  of  those  strange 
changes  he  is  effecting  over  the  whole  surface  of  society. 
The  steam-engine  is  not  merely  a  power  to  turn  the 
wheels  of  mechanism,  —  it  beats  and  throbs  within  the 


INTRODUCTION.  201 

heart  of  a  nation,  and  is  felt  in  every  fibre  and  recog- 
nized in  every  sinew  of  civilized  man. 

How  vain  to  tell  us  now  of  the  lover's  bark  skimming 
the  midnight  sea,  or  speak  of  a  felucca  and  its  pirate 
crew  stealing  stealthily  across  the  waters !  A  suitor 
would  come  to  seek  his  mistress  in  the  Iron  Duke,  of 
three  hundred  horse-power ;  and  a  smuggler  would  have 
no  chance,  if  he  had  not  a  smoking-galley,  with  Watt's 
patent  boilers ! 

What  absurdity  to  speak  of  a  runaway  couple,  in 
vain  pursued  by  an  angry  parent,  on  the  road  to  Gretna 
Green !  An  express  engine,  with  a  stoker  and  a  driver, 
would  make  the  deserted  father  overtake  them  in  no 
time ! 

Instead  of  the  characters  of  a  story  remaining  stupidly 
in  one  place,  the  novelist  now  can  conduct  his  tale  to 
the  tune  of  thirty  miles  an  hour,  and  start  his  company 
in  the  first  class  of  the  Great  Western.  No  difficulty  to 
preserve  the  unities !  Here  he  journeys  with  bag  and 
baggage,  and  can  bring  twenty  or  more  families  along 
with  him,  if  he  like.  Not  limiting  the  description  of 
scenery  to  one  place  or  spot,  he  whisks  his  reader 
through  a  dozen  counties  in  a  chapter,  and  gives  him  a 
bird's-eye  glance  of  half  England  as  he  goes ;  thus,  how 
original  the  breaks  which  would  arise  from  an  occasional 
halt,  what  an  afflicting  interruption  to  a  love  story, 
the  cry  of  the  guard,  "  Coventry,  Coventry,  Coventry  ;  " 
or,  "  Any  gentleman,  Tring,  Tring,  Tring ; "  with  the 
more  agreeable  interjection  of  "  Tea  or  coffee,  sir  ?  — 
one  brandy  and  soda-water  — '  Times,'  '  Chronicle,'  or 
'  Globe.' "  ' 

How  would  the  great  realities  of  life  flash  upon  the 
reader's  mind,  and  how  insensibly  would  he  amalgamate 
fact  with  fiction  !     And,  lastly,  think,  reflect,  what  new 


202  INTRODUCTION. 

catastrophe  would  open  upon  an  author's  vision;  for 
while,  to  the  gentler  novelist,  like  Mrs.  Gore,  an  eternal 
separation  might  ensue  from  starting  with  the  wrong 
train,  the  bloody-minded  school  would  revel  in  ex- 
plosions and  concussions,  rent  boilers,  insane  luggage- 
trains,  flattening  the  old  gentlemen  like  buft'ers.  Here 
is  a  vista  for  imagination,  here  is  scope  for  at  least 
fifty  years  to  come.  I  do  not  wish  to  allude  to  the 
accessory  consequences  of  this  new  literary  school, 
though  I  am  certain  music  and  the  fine  arts  would  both 
benefit  by  its  introduction ;  and  one  of  the  popular  mel- 
odies of  the  day  would  be  "  We  met ;  't  was  in  a  tunnel." 
I  hope  my  literary  brethren  will  appreciate  the  candor 
and  generosity  with  which  I  point  out  to  them  this  new 
and  unclaimed  spot  in  Parnassus.  No  petty  jealousies, 
no  miserable  self-interests,  have  weighed  with  me.  I 
am  willing  to  give  them  a  share  in  my  discovered 
country,  well  aware  that  there  is  space  and  settlement 
for  us  all,  —  locations  for  every  fancy,  allotments  for 
every  quality  of  genius.  For  myself  I  reserve  nothing; 
satisfied  with  the  fame  of  a  Columbus,  I  can  look  for- 
ward to  a  glorious  future,  and  endure  all  the  neglect 
and  indifference  of  present  ingratitude.  Meanwhile,  less 
with  the  hope  of  amusing  the  reader  than  illustrating 
my  theory,  I  shall  jot  down  some  of  my  own  expe- 
riences, and  give  them  a  short  series  of  the  "  Romance 
of  a  Railroad." 

But,  ere  I  begin,  let  me  make  one  explanation  for  the 
benefit  of  the  reader  and  myself. 

The  class  of  literature  which  I  am  now  about  to  in- 
troduce to  the  public,  unhappily  debars  me  from  the 
employment  of  the  habitual  tone  and  the  ordinary  aids 
to  interest  prescriptive  right  has  conferred  on  the 
novelist.     I  can   neither  commence  with   "  It  was  late 


INTRODUCTION.  203 

in  the  winter  of  1754,  as  three  travellers,"  etc.,  etc. ;  or, 
"  The  sun  was  setting  ; "  or,  "  The  moon  was  rising ; " 
or,  "  The  stars  were  twinkling ; "  or,  "  On  the  15th 
Feb.,  1573,  a  figure,  attired  in  the  costume  of  northern 
Italy,  was  seen  to  blow  his  nose ; "  or,  in  fact,  is  there 
a  single  limit  to  the  mode  in  which  I  may  please  to  open 
my  tale.  ]My  way  lies  in  a  country  where  there  are  no 
roads,  and  there  is  no  one  to  cry  out,  "  Keep  your  own 
side  of  the  way."     Now,  then,  for  — 


"The  English  are  a  lord-loving  people,  there's  no  doubt  of 
it,"  was  the  reflection  I  could  not  help  making  to  myself,  on 
hearing  the  commentaries  pronounced  by  my  fellow-travellers 
in  the  North  Midland,  on  a  passenger  who  had  just  taken  his 
departure  from  amongst  us.  He  was  a  middle-aged  man,  of 
very  prepossessing  appearance,  with  a  slow,  distiuct,  and 
somewhat  emphatic  mode  of  speaking.  He  had  joined  freely 
and  affably  in  the  conversation  of  the  party,  contributing  his 
share  in  the  observations  made  upon  the  several  topics  dis- 
cussed, and  always  expressing  himself  suitably  and  to  the 
purpose ;  and  although  these  are  gifts  I  am  by  no  means  un- 
grateful enough  to  hold  cheaply,  yet  neitlier  was  I  prepared 
to  hear  such  an  universal  burst  of  panegyric  as  followed  his 
exit. 

"  The  most  agreeable  man,  so  affable,  so  unaffected." 
"  Always   listened  to   with   such   respect   in    the   Upper 
House." 

"Splendid  place,  Treddleton,  —  eighteen  hundred  acres, 
they  say,  in  the  demesne, — such  a  deer-park  too." 
"  And  what  a  collection  of  Vandykes  !  " 
"  The  Duke  has  a  very  high  opinion  of  his  —  " 


206  TALES   (JF  THE  TRAINS. 

"  Income,  —  canuot  be  much  under  two  hundred  thousand, 
I  should  say." 

Such  and  such-like  were  the  fragmentary  comments  upon 
one  who,  divested  of  so  man}'  claims  upon  the  respect  and 
gratitude  of  his  country,  had  merely  been  pronounced  a  very 
well-bred  and  somewhat  agreeable  gentleman.  To  liave  re- 
fused sympath}'  with  a  feeling  so  general  would  have  been  to 
argue  myself  a  member  of  the  anti-coru  law  league,  the  re- 
peal association,  or  some  similarly  minded  institution ;  so 
that  I  joined  in  the  grand  chorus  around,  and  manifested 
the  happiness  1  experienced  in  common  with  the  rest,  that 
a  lord  had  travelled  in  our  compau}-,  and  neither  asked  us  to 
sit  on  the  boiler  nor  on  the  top  of  the  luggage,  but  actually 
spoke  to  us  and  interchanged  sentiments,  as  though  we  were 
even  intended  by  Providence  for  such  communion.  One  little 
round-faced  man  with  a  smooth  cheek,  devoid  of  beard,  a 
pair  of  twinkling  gray  eyes,  and  a  light  brown  wig,  did  not, 
however,  contribute  his  suffrage  to  the  measure  thus  trium- 
phantly carried,  but  sat  with  a  very  peculiar  kind  of  simper 
on  his  mouth,  and  with  his  head  turned  towards  the  window, 
as  though  to  avoid  observation.  He,  I  say,  said  nothing, 
but  there  was  that  in  the  expression  of  his  features  that 
said,  "I  differ  from  you,"  as  palpably  as  though  he  had 
spoken  it  out  in  words. 

The  theme  once  started  was  not  soon  dismissed ;  each 
seemed  to  vie  with  his  neighbor  in  his  knowledge  of  the 
habits  and  opinions  of  the  titled  orders,  and  a  number  of 
pleasant  little  pointless  stories  were  told  of  the  nobility, 
which,  if  I  could  only  remember  and  retail  here,  would 
show  the  amiable  feeling  they  entertain  for  the  happiness 
of  all  the  world,  and  how  glad  they  are  when  every  one 
has  enough  to  eat,  and  there  is  no  "  leader  "  in  the  "  Times" 
about  the  distress  in  the  manufacturing  districts.  The  round- 
faced  man  eyed  the  speakers  in  turn,  but  never  uttered  a 
word ;  and  it  was  plain  that  he  was  falling  very  low  in  the 
barometer  of  public  opinion,  from  his  incapacity  to  contrib- 
ute a  single  noble  anecdote,  even  though  the  hero  should  be 
only  a  Lord  Mayor,  when  suddenly  he  said,  — 

"  There  was  rather  a  queer  sort  of  thing  happened  to  me 
the  last  time  I  went  the  Nottingham  circuit." 


THE   COUPE   OF  THE   NORTPI   MIDLAND.  207 

"Oh,  do  you  belong  to  that  circuit?"  said  a  thiu-faced 
old  uiau  in  spectacles.      '•  Do  you  kuow  Fitzroy  Kelly  ?  " 

"Is  he  in  the  hardware  liue?  There  was  a  chap  of  that 
name  travelled  for  Tingle  and  Crash ;  but  he  's  done  up,  I 
think.  He  forged  a  bill  of  exchange  iu  Manchester,  and 
is  travelling  now  in  another  line  of  business." 

"I  mean  the  eminent  lawyer,  sir, — I  know  nothing  of 
bagmen." 

"They're  bagmen  too,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  little 
chuckling  laugh,  "and  pretty  samples  of  honesty  they 
hawk  about  with  them,  as  I  hear ;  but  no  offence,  gentle- 
men, —  I  'm  a  C.  G.  myself." 

"  A  what?  "  said  three  or  four  together. 

"  A  commercial  gentleman,  in  the  tape,  bobbin,  and 
twist  line,  for  Rundle,  Trundle,  and  Winningspin's  house, 
one  of  the  oldest  in  the  trade." 

Here  was  a  tumble  down  with  a  vengeance,  —  from  the 
noble  Earl  of  Heaven  knows  what  and  where.  Knight  of 
the  Garter,  Grand  Cross  of  the  Bath,  Knight  of  St. 
Patrick,  to  a  mere  C.  G., —a  commercial  gentleman,  trav- 
elling in  the  tape,  bobbin,  and  twist  line  for  the  firm  of 
Rundle,  Trundle,  and  Winniugspin,  of  Leeds.  The  opera- 
tion of  steam  condensing,  by  letting  in  a  stream  of  cold 
water,  was  the  only  simile  I  can  find  for  the  sudden  revul- 
sion ;  and  as  many  plethoric  sobs,  shrugs,  and  grunts  issued 
from  the  party  as  though  they  represented  an  engine  under 
like  circumstances.  All  the  aristocratic  associations  were  put 
to  flight  at  once  ;  it  seemed  profane  to  remember  the  Peer- 
age in  such  company;  and  a  general  silence  ensued,  each 
turning  from  time  to  time  an  angry  look  towards  the  little 
bagman,  whose  mal-(X-propos  speech  had  routed  their  illus- 
trious allusions. 

Somewhat  tired  of  the  stiff  and  uncomfortable  calm  that 
succeeded,  I  ventured  in  a  very  meek  and  insinuating  tone 
to  remind  the  little  man  of  the  reminiscence  he  had  already 
begun,  when  interrupted  by  the  unlucky  question  as  to  his 
circuit. 

"  Oh!  it  ain't  much  of  a  story,"  said  he.  "  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  the  same  kind  of  thing  happens  often,  —  mayhap, 
too,  the  gentlemen  would  not  like  to  hear  it,  though  they 
might,  after  all,  for  there  's  a  Duke  in  it." 


208  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

There  was  that  in  the  easy  simplicity  with  which  he  said 
these  words,  vouching  for  his  good  temper,  which  propi- 
tiated at  once  the  feelings  of  the  others;  and  after  a  few 
half-expressed  apologies  for  having  already  interrupted  him, 
they  begged  he  would  kindly  relate  the  incident  to  which  he 
alluded. 

'•It  is  about  four  years  since,"  said  he.  "  I  was  then  in 
the  printed-calico  way  for  a  house  in  Nottingham ;  business 
was  not  very  good,  my  commission  nothing  to  boast  of  — 
cotton  looking  down  —  nothing  lively  but  quilted  woollens, 
so  that  I  generally  travelled  in  the  third  class  train.  It 
wasn't  pleasant,  to  be  sure;  the  company,  at  the  best  of 
times,  a  pretty  considerable  sprinkling  of  runaway  recruits, 
prisoners  going  to  the  assizes,  and  wounded  people  run  over 
by  the  last  train ;  but  it  was  cheap,  and  that  suited  me. 
Well,  one  morning  I  took  my  ticket  as  usual,  and  was  about 
to  take  my  place,  when  I  found  every  carriage  was  full ; 
there  was  not  room  for  my  little  portmanteau  in  one  of  them  ; 
and  so  I  wandered  up  and  down  while  the  bell  was  ringing, 
shoving  my  ticket  into  every  one's  face,  and  swearing  I 
would  bring  the  case  before  Parliament,  if  they  did  not  put 
on  a  special  train  for  my  own  accommodation,  when  a  smart- 
looking  chap  called  out  to  one  of  the  porters,  — 

"'Put  that  noisy  little  devil  in  the  coupe;  there's  room 
for  him  there.' 

"  And  so  they  whipped  my  legs  from  under  me,  and 
chucked  me  in,  banged  the  door,  and  said,  '  Go  on  ;  '  and  just 
as  if  the  whole  thing  was  waiting  for  a  commercial  traveller 
to  make  it  all  right,  away  went  the  train  at  twenty  miles  an 
hour.  When  I  had  time  to  look  around,  I  perceived  that  I 
had  a  fellow-traveller,  rather  tall  and  gentlemanly,  with  a 
sallow  face  and  dark  whiskers  ;  he  wore  a  brown  upper-coat, 
all  covered  with  velvet,  —  the  collar,  the  breasts,  and  even 
the  cuffs,  —  and  I  perceived  that  he  had  a  pair  of  fur  shoes 
over  his  boots,  —  signs  of  one  who  liked  to  make  himself 
comfortable.  He  was  reading  the  '  Morning  Chronicle,' 
and  did  not  desist  as  I  entered,  so  that  I  had  abundant  time 
to  study  every  little  peculiarity  of  his  personal  appearance, 
unnoticed  by  him. 

"  It  was  plain,  from  a  number  of  little  circumstances,  that 


THE   COUP:fc   OF  THE   NORTH  MIDLAND.  209 

he  belonged  to  that  class  in  life  who  have,  so  to  say,  the 
sunuy  side  of  existence.  The  handsome  rings  which  spar- 
kled on  his  fingers,  the  massive  gold  snuff-box  which  he 
coolly  dropped  into  the  pocket  of  the  carriage,  the  splendid 
repeater  by  which  he  checked  the  speed  of  the  train,  as 
though  to  intimate  you  had  better  not  be  behind  time  with 
me,  made  me  heave  an  involuntary  sigh  over  that  strange  but 
universal  law  of  Providence  by  which  the  goods  of  fortune 
are  so  unequally  distributed.  For  about  two  hours  we  jour- 
neyed thus,  when  at  last  my  companion,  who  had  opened  in 
succession  some  half-dozen  newspapers,  and,  after  skimming 
them  slightly,  thrown  them  at  his  feet,  turned  to  me,  and 
said,  — 

"'Would  3'ou  like  to  see  the  morning  papers,  sir?' 
pointing  as  he  spoke,  with  a  kind  of  easy  indifference,  to 
the  pile  before  him.  'There's  the  "Chronicle,"  "Times," 
"  Globe,"  "  Sun,"  and  "  Hxaminer  ;  "  take  your  choice,  sir.' 

"  And  with  that  he  yawned,  stretched  himself,  and,  letting 
down  the  glass,  looked  out ;  thereby  turning  his  back  on  me, 
and  not  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  the  grateful  thanks 
by  which  I  accepted  his  offer. 

"'Devilish  haughty,'  thought  I;  'shouldn't  wonder  if 
he  was  one  of  the  great  mill-owners  here,  —  great  swells  they 
are,  I  hear.' 

"'Ah!  you  read  the  "Times,"  I  perceive,'  said  he, 
turning  round,  and  fixing  a  steadfast  and  piercing  look  on 
me  ;  '  you  read  the  "  Times,"  —  a  rascally  paper,  an  infamous 
paper,  sir,  a  dishonest  paper.  Their  opposition  to  the  new 
poor  law  is  a  mere  trick,  and  their  support  of  the  Peel  party 
a  contemptible  change  of  principles.' 

"  Lord  !  how  I  wished  I  had  taken  up  the  '  Chronicle  ' !  I 
would  have  paid  a  week's  subscription  to  have  been  able  to 
smuggle  the  '  Examiner '  into  my  hand  at  that  moment. 

"  '  I 'm  a  Whig,  sir,'  said  he;  '  and  neither  ashamed  nor 
afraid  to  make  the  avowal,  —  a  AVhig  of  the  old  Charles  Fox 
school,  —  a  Whig  who  understands  how  to  combine  the  hap- 
piness of  the  people  with  the  pi'ivileges  of  the  aristocracy.' 

"  And  as  he  spoke  he  knitted  his  brows,  and  frowned  at 
me,  as  though  I  were  Jack  Cade  bent  upon  pulling  down  the 
Church,  and  annihilating  the  monarchy  of  these  realms. 

^OL    '1—14 


210  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

"  '  You  may  think  differently,'  continued  he,  —  '  I  perceive 
you  do :  never  mind,  have  the  manliness  to  avow  your 
opinions.  You  may  speak  freely  to  one  who  is  never  in  the 
habit  of  concealing  his  own ;  indeed,  I  flatter  myself  that 
they  are  pretty  well  known  by  this  time.' 

"'Who  can  he  be?'  thought  I.  'Lord  John  is  a  little 
man,  Lord  Melbourne  is  a  fat  one ;  can  it  be  Lord  Nor- 
manby,  or  is  it  Lord  Howick?'  And  so  I  went  on  to  my- 
self, repeating  the  whole  Whig  Peerage,  and  then,  coming 
down  to  the  Lower  House,  I  went  over  every  name  I  could 
think  of,  down  to  the  lowest  round  of  the  ladder,  never 
stopping  till  I  came  to  the  member  for  Sudbury. 

"'It  ain't  him,'  thought  I;  'he  has  a  lisp,  and  never 
could  have  such  a  fine  coat  as  that.' 

"  'Have  you  considered,  sir,'  said  he,  'where  your  Tory- 
ism will  lead  you  to?  Have  you  reflected  that  you  of  the 
middle  class —     I  presume  you  belong  to  that  order?' 

"  I  bowed,  and  muttered  something  about  printed  cottons. 

"  '  Have  you  considered  that  by  unjustly  denying  the 
rights  of  the  lower  orders  under  the  impression  that  you  are 
preserving  the  prerogative  of  the  throne,  that  you  are  really 
undermining  our  order?' 

"  '  God  forgive  us  ! '  ejaculated  I.     '  I  hope  we  are  not.' 

"  '  But  you  are,'  said  he ;  'it  is  you,  and  others  like  you, 
who  will  not  see  the  anomalous  social  condition  of  our 
country.  You  make  no  concessions  until  wrung  from  you ; 
you  yield  nothing  except  extorted  by  force ;  the  finances  of 
the  country  are  in  a  ruinous  condition,  —  trade  stagnated.' 

"'Quite  true,'  said  I;  'Wriggles  and  Briggs  stopped 
payment  on  Tuesday ;  there  won't  be  one  and  fourpence  in 
the  pound.' 

"'D — n  Wriggles  and  Briggs!'  said  he;  'don't  talk  to 
me  of  such  contemptible  cotton-spinner  — ' 

"  'They  were  in  the  hardware  line, — plated  dish-covers, 
japans,  and  bronze  fenders.' 

"  '  Confound  their  fenders ! '  cried  he  again  ;  '  it  is  not  of 
such  grubbing  fabricators  of  frying-pans  and  fire-irons  I 
speak;  it  is  of  the  trade  of  this  mighty  nation, — our  ex- 
ports, our  imports,  our  colonial  trade,  our  foreign  trade,  our 
trade  with  the  East,  our  trade  with  the  West,  our  trade 
■with  the  Hindoos,  our  trade  with  the  Esquimaux.' 


THE   COUP:fc   OF  THE   NORTH   MIDLAND. 


211 


"'He's  Secretary  for  the  Colonies;  he  has  the  whole 
thing  at  his  finger-ends.' 

"  '  Yes,  sir,'  said  he,  with  another  frown,  '  our  trade  with 
the  Esquimaux.' 

"  '  Bears  are  pretty  brisk,  too,'  said  I ;  '  but  foxes  is  fall- 


ing, —  there  will  be  no  stir  in  squirrels  till  near  spring.  I 
heard  it  myself  from  Snaggs,  who  is  in  that  line.' 

"  'D — n  Snaggs,'  said  he,  scowling  at  me. 

"  '  Well,  d — n  him,'  said  I,  too  ;  '  he  owes  me  thirteen  and 
fourpence,  balance  of  a  little  account  between  us.' 

"  This  unlucky  speech  of  mine  seemed  to  have  totally  dis- 


212  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

gusted  my  aristocratic  companion,  for  he  drew  his  cap  down 
over  his  eyes,  folded  his  arms  upon  his  breast,  stretched  out 
his  legs,  and  soon  fell  asleep ;  not,  however,  with  such  due 
regard  to  the  privileges  of  the  humbler  classes  as  became 
one  of  his  benevolent  Whig  principles,  for  he  fell  over 
against  me,  flattening  me  into  a  corner  of  the  vehicle,  where 
he  used  me  as  a  bolster,  and  this  for  thirty-two  miles  of  the 
journey. 

"  '  Where  are  we  ? '  said  he,  starting  up  suddenly ;  '  what 's 
the  name  of  this  place?' 

*' '  This  is  Stretton,'  said  I.  '  I  must  look  sharp,  fori  get 
out  at  Chesterfield.' 

"  '  Are  you  known  here,'  said  my  companion,  '  to  any  one 
in  these  parts?' 

"  '  No,'  said  I,  '  it  is  my  first  turn  on  this  road.' 

"  He  seemed  to  reflect  for  some  moments,  and  then  said, 
'  You  pass  the  night  at  Chesterfield,  don't  you?  '  and,  without 
waiting  for  my  answer,  added,  '  Well,  we  '11  take  a  bit  of 
dinner  there.  You  can  order  it,  —  six  sharp.  Take  care 
they  have  fish,  —  it  would  be  as  well  that  you  tasted  the 
sherry ;  and,  mark  me !  not  a  word  about  me ; '  and  with 
that  he  placed  his  finger  on  his  lips,  as  though  to  impress  me 
with  inviolable  secrecy.     '  Do  you  mind,  not  a  word.' 

"'I  shall  be  most  happy,'  said  I,  'to  have  the  pleasure 
of  your  company ;  but  there 's  no  risk  of  my  mentioning 
your  name,  as  I  have  not  the  honor  to  know  it.' 

"  'My  name  is  Cavendish,'  said  he,  with  a  very  peculiar 
smile  and  a  toss  of  his  head,  as  though  to  imply  that  I  was 
something  of  an  ignoramus  not  to  be  aware  of  it. 

"  '  Mine  is  Baggs,'  said  I,  thinking  it  only  fair  to 
exchange. 

"  '  With  all  my  heart,  Raggs,'  said  he,  '  we  dine  together, 
—  that 's  agreed.  You  '11  see  that  everything  's  right,  for  I 
don't  wish  to  be  recognized  down  here  ; '  and  at  these  words, 
uttered  rather  in  the  tone  of  a  command,  my  companion 
opened  a  pocket-book,  and  commenced  making  certain 
memoranda  with  his  pencil,  totally  unmindful  of  me  and  of 
my  concurrence  in  his  arrangements. 

"  '  Chesterfield,  Chesterfield,  Chesterfield,  —  any  gentle- 
man for  Chesterfield?'   shouted   the  porters,  opening   and 


THE   COUPE   OF  THE   NORTH  MIDLAND.  213 

shutting  doors,  as  they  cried,  with  a  rapidity  well  suited  to 
their  utterance. 

"'"We  get  out  here,'  said  I;  and  my  companion  at  the 
same  moment  descended  from  the  carriage,  and,  with  an 
air  of  very  aristocratic  indifference,  ordered  his  luggage  to 
be  placed  in  a  cab.  It  was  just  at  this  instant  that  my  eye 
caught  the  envelope  of  one  of  the  newspapers  which  had 
fallen  at  m}^  feet,  and,  delighted  at  this  opportunity  of  dis- 
covering something  more  of  my  companion,  I  took  it  up  and 
read  —  what  do  you  think  I  read?  —  true  as  I  sit  here, 
gentlemen,  the  words  were, '  His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Devon- 
shire, Devonshire  House.'  Lord  bless  me,  if  all  Nottingham 
had  taken  the  beneflt  of  the  act  I  could  n't  be  more  of  a  heap, 
—  a  cold  shivering  came  over  me  at  the  bare  thought  of 
anything  I  might  have  said  to  so  illustrious  a  personage. 
'  No  wonder  he  should  d — n  Snaggs,'  thought  I.  '  Snaggs 
is  a  low,  sneaking  scoundrel,  not  fit  to  clean  his  Grace's 
shoes.' 

"  '  Hallo,  Raggs,  are  you  ready?'  cried  the  Duke. 

"'Yes,  your  Grace  —  my  Lord  —  yes,  sir,'  said  I,  not 
knowing  how  to  conceal  my  knowledge  of  his  real  station. 
I  would  have  given  five  shillings  to  be  let  sit  outside  with 
the  driver,  rather  than  crush  mj'self  into  the  little  cab,  and 
squeeze  the  Duke  up  iu  the  corner. 

"'We  must  have  no  politics,  friend  Raggs,'  said  he,  as 
we  drove  along, —  '  you  and  I  can't  agree,  that's  plain.' 

"  '  Heaven  forbid,  your  Grace;  that  is,  sir,'  said  J,  '  that 
I  should  have  any  opinions  displeasing  to  you.  My 
views  — ' 

"  '  Are  necessarily  narrow-minded  and  miserable.  I  know 
it,  Raggs.  I  can  conceive  how  creatures  in  your  kind  of 
life  follow  the  track  of  opinion,  just  as  they  do  the  track  of 
the  road,  neither  daring  to  think  or  reflect  for  themselves. 
It  is  a  sad  and  a  humiliating  picture  of  human  nature,  and  I 
have  often  grieved  at  it.'  Here  his  Grace  blew  his  nose, 
and  seemed  really  affected  at  the  degraded  condition  of 
commercial  travellers. 

"I  must  not  dwell  longer  on  the  conversation  between 
us,  —  if  that,  indeed,  be  called  conversation  where  the  Duke 
spoke   and   I   listened ;    for,   from  the   moment  the  dinner 


214  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

appeared,  — and  a  very  nice  little  dinner  it  was  :  soup,  fish, 
two  roasts,  sweets,  and  a  piece  of  cheese,  —  his  Grace  ate  as 
if  he  had  not  a  French  cook  at  home,  and  the  best  cellar  in 
England. 

"  '  What  do  you  drink,  Raggs?  '  said  he  ;  '  Burgundy  is  my 
favorite,  though  Brodie  says  it  won't  do  for  me ;  at  least 
when  I  have  much  to  do  in  "  the  House."  Strange  thing, 
very  strange  thing  I  am  going  to  mention  to  you,  —  no 
Cavendish  can  drink  Chambertiu,  —  it  is  something  heredi- 
tary. Chambers  mentioned  to  me  one  day  that  very  few 
of  the  English  nobility  are  without  some  little  idiosyncrasy 
of  that  kind.  The  Churchills  never  can  taste  gin ;  the  St. 
Maurs  faint  if  they  see  strawberries  and  cream.' 

"  '  The  Baggs,'  said  I,  '  never  could  eat  tripe.'  I  hope 
he  did  n't  say  '  D — n  the  Baggs ; '  but  I  almost  fear  he 
did. 

"  The  Duke  ordered  up  the  landlord,  and,  after  getting 
the  whole  state  of  the  cellar  made  known,  desired  three 
bottles  of  claret  to  be  sent  up,  and  despatched  a  messenger 
through  the  town  to  search  for  olives. 

"'We  are  very  backward,  Raggs,'  said  he.  'In  Eng- 
land we  have  no  idea  of  life,  nor  shall  we,  as  long  as  these 
confounded  Tories  remain  in  power.  With  free  trade,  sir, 
we  should  have  the  productions  of  France  and  Italy  upon 
our  tables,  without  the  ruinous  expenditure  they  at  present 
cost.' 

"  '  You  don't  much  care  for  that,'  said  I,  venturing  a  half- 
hint  at  his  condition. 

"  *  No,'  said  he,  frankly ;  '  I  confess  I  do  not.  But 
I  am  not  selfish,  and  would  extend  my  good  wishes  to 
others.  How  do  you  like  that  Lafitte?  A  little  tart, — a 
very  little.     It  drinks  cold, — don't  you  think  so?' 

"  '  It  is  a  freezing  mixture,'  said  I.  '  If  I  dare  to  ask 
for  a  warm  with  —  ' 

'"Take  what  you  like,  Raggs  —  only  don't  ask  me  to 
be  of  the  party ; '  and  with  that  he  gazed  at  the  wine  be- 
tween himself  and  the  candle  with  the  glance  of  a  true 
connoisseur. 

"'I'll  tell  you,'  said  he,  'a  little  occurrence  which 
happened  me  some  years  since,  not  far  from  this ;  in  fact, 


THE   COUPE   OF  THE   NORTH  MIDLAND. 


215 


I  may  confess  to  3'ou,  it  was  at  Chatsworth.  George  the 
Fourth  came  down  on  a  visit  to  us  for  a  few  days  in  the 
shooting-season,  —  not  that  he  cared  for  sport,  but  it  was  an 
excuse  for  something  to  do.  "Well,  the  evening  he  arrived, 
he  dined  in  his  own  apartment,  nobody  with  him  but  — ' 


'(^1 


"Just  at  this  instant  the  landlord  entered,  with  a  most 
obsequious  face  and  an  air  of  great  secrecy. 

"  '  I  beg  pardon,  gentlemen,'  said  he;  '  but  there's  a  car- 
riage come  over  from  Chatsworth,  and  the  footman  won't 
give  the  name  of  the  gentleman  he  wants.' 

"  'Quite  right, — quite  right,'  said  the  Duke,  waving  his 
hand.  '  Let  the  carriage  wait.  Come,  Raggs,  you  seem  to 
have  nothing  before  you.' 


216  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

"  '  Bless  your  Grace,'  said  I,  '  I  'm  at  the  eud  of  iny  third 
tumbler.' 

"  '  Never  miud,  —  mix  another ; '  and  with  that  he  pushed 
the  decanter  of  brandy  towards  me,  and  filled  his  own 
glass  to  the   brim. 

"  'Your  health,  Raggs, — I  rather  like  you.  I  confess,' 
continued    he,    '  I  've    had  rather  a   prejudice   against  3^our 

order.     There  is  something  d d  low  in  cutting  about  the 

country  with  patterns  in  a  bag.' 

'' '  We  don't,'  said  I,  rather  nettled  ;  '  we  carry  a  pocket- 
book  like  this.'  And  here  I  produced  my  specimen  order ; 
but  with  one  shy  of  his  foot  the  Duke  sent  it  flying  to  the 
ceiling,  as  he  exclaimed,  — 

"' Confound  your  patchwork! — try  to  be  a  gentleman 
for  once ! ' 

"  '  So  I  will,  then,'  said  I.  '  Hei-e  's  your  health,  Devon- 
shire.' 

"  '  Take  care,  —  take  care,'  said  he,  solemnly.  '  Don't 
dare  to  take  any  liberties  with  me,  —  they  won't  do ; '  and 
the  words  made  my  blood  freeze. 

"  I  tossed  off  a  glass  neat  to  gain  courage;  for  my  head 
swam  round,  and  I  thought  I  saw  his  Grace  sitting  before 
me,  in  his  dress  as  Knight  of  the  Garter,  with  a  coronet 
on  his  head,  his  'George'  round  his  neck,  and  he  was 
frowning  at  me  most  awfully. 

"  '  I  did  n't  mean  it,'  said  I,  pitifully.  '  I  am  only  a  bag- 
man, but  very  well  known  on  the  western  road,  —  could  get 
security  for  three  hundred  pounds,  any  day,  in  soft  goods.' 

"  'I  am  not  angr}',  old  Raggs,'  said  the  Duke.  'None 
of  my  family  ever  bear  malice.  Let  us  have  a  toast,  — 
"A  speedy  return  to  our  rightful  position  on  the  Treasury 
benches." ' 

"  I  pledged  his  Grace  with  every  enthusiasm  ;  and  when  I 
laid  my  glass  on  the  table,  he  wrung  my  hand  warmly  and 
said,  — 

"  '  Raggs,  I  must  do  something  for  you.' 

"  From  that  moment  I  felt  my  fortune  was  made.  The 
friendship  —  and  was  I  wrong  in  giving  it  that  title  ?  —  the 
friendship  of  such  a  man  was  success  assured ;  and  as  I 
sipped  my  liquor,  I  ran  over  in  my  mind  the  various  little 


THE   COUPE   OF  THE   NORTH   MIDLAND.  217 

posts  and  offices  I  would  accept  of  or  decline.  They  '11  be 
oflfering  mc  some  chief-justiceship  in  Gambia,  or  to  be  port- 
surveyor  in  the  Isle  of  Dogs,  or  something  of  that  kind  ;  but 
I  won't  take  it,  nor  will  1  go  out  as  bishop,  nor  commander 
of  the  forces,  nor  collector  of  customs  to  any  newly  dis- 
covered island  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  '  I  must  have  something 
at  home  here ;  I  never  could  bear  a  sea-voyage,'  said  I, 
aloud,  concluding  my  meditation  by  this  reflection. 

"'Why,  you  are  half-seas-over  already,  Raggs,'  said  the 
Duke,  as  he  sat  puffing  his  cigar  in  all  the  luxury  of  a  Pacha. 
'  I  say,'  continued  he,  '  do  you  ever  play  a  hand  at  ecarte, 
or  viiKjt-et-xn,  or  any  other  game  for  twor ' 

"  '  I  can  do  a  little  at  five-and-ten,'  said  I,  timidly  ;  for  it 
is  rather  a  vulgar  game,  and  I  did  n't  half  fancy  confessing 
it  was  my  favorite. 

"' Five-and-ten !' said  the  Duke;  'that  is  a  game  ex- 
ploded even  from  the  housekeeper's  room.  I  doubt  if 
they'd  play  it  in  the  kitchen  of  a  respectable  family. 
Can  you  do  nothing  else?' 

"  Pope-joan  and  pitch-and-toss  were  then  the  extent  of 
my  accomplishments  ;  but  I  was  actually  afraid  to  own  to 
them  ;    and  so  I  shook  my  head  in  token  of  dissent. 

"  'Well,  be  it  so,'  said  he,  with  a  sigh.  'Touch  that 
bell,  and  let  us  see  if  they  have  a  pack  of  cards  in  the 
house.' 

"The  cards  were  soon  brought,  a  little  table  with  a 
green  baize  covering  —  it  might  have  been  a  hearth-rug 
for  coarseness  —  placed  at  the  fire,  and  down  we  sat.  We 
played  till  the  day  was  beginning  to  break,  chatting  and 
sipping  between  time;  and  although  the  stakes  were  only 
sixpences,  the  Duke  won  eight  pounds  odd  shillings,  and  I 
bad  to  give  him  an  order  on  a  house  in  Leeds  for  the 
amount.  I  cared  little  for  the  loss,  it  is  true.  The 
money  was  well  invested,  —  somewhat  more  profitably  than 
the  '  three-and-a-halfs,'  any  way. 

"  '  Those  horses,'  said  the  Duke,  —  '  those  horses  will  feel 
a  bit  cold  or  so  by  this  time.  So  I  think,  Raggs,  I  must  take 
my  leave  of  you.  We  shall  meet  again,  I  've  no  doubt,  some 
of  these  days.  I  believe  you  know  where  to  find  me  in 
town?' 


218  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

"  'I  should  think  so,'  said  I,  with  a  look  that  conveyed 
more  than  mere  words.     '  It  is  not  such  a  difficult  matter.' 

"  '  Well,  then,  good-bye,  old  fellow,'  said  he,  with  as 
warm  a  shake  of  the  hand  as  ever  I  felt  in  my  life.  '  Good- 
bye. I  have  told  you  to  make  use  of  me,  and,  I  repeat  it, 
I  '11  be  as  good  as  my  word.  We  are  not  in  just  now ;  but 
thei-e  's  no  knowing  what  may  turn  up.  Besides^  whether  in 
office  or  out,  we  are  never  tvithout  our  influence.' 

"  What  extent  of  professions  my  gratitude  led  me  into,  I 
cannot  clearly  remember  now ;  but  I  have  a  half-recollection 
of  pledging  his  Grace  in  something  very  strong,  and  getting 
a  fit  of  coughing  in  an  attempt  to  cheer,  amid  which  he  drove 
off  as  fast  as  the  horses  could  travel,  waving  me  a  last  adieu 
from  the  carriage  window. 

"  As  I  jogged  along  the  road  on  the  following  day,  one 
only  passage  of  the  preceding  night  kept  continually  recur- 
ring to  my  mind.  Whether  it  was  that  his  Grace  spoke  the 
words  with  a  peculiar  emphasis,  or  that  this  last  blow  on  the 
drum  had  erased  all  memory  of  previous  sounds ;  but  so  it 
was,  —  I  continued  to  repeat  as  I  went,  '  Whether  in  office 
or  out,  we  have  always  our  influence.' 

"  This  sentence  became  my  guiding  star  wherever  I  went. 
It  supported  me  in  every  casualty  and  under  every  misfor- 
tune. Wet  through  with  rain,  late  for  a  coach,  soaked  in  a 
damp  bed,  half  starved  by  a  bad  dinner,  overcharged  in  an 
inn,  upset  on  the  road,  without  hope,  without  an  '  order,'  I 
had  only  to  fall  back  upon  my  talisman,  and  rarely  had  to 
mutter  it  twice,  ere  visions  of  official  wealth  and  power 
floated  before  me,  and  imagination  conjured  up  gorgeous 
dreams  of  bliss,  bright  enough  to  dispel  the  darkest  gloom  of 
evil  fortune;  and  as  poets  dream  of  fairy  forms  skipping 
from  the  bells  of  flowers  by  moonlight,  and  light-footed  elves 
disporting  in  the  deep  cells  of  water-lilies  or  sailing  along 
some  glittering  stream,  the  boat  a  plantain-leaf,  so  did  I 
revel  in  imaginary  festivals,  surrounded  by  peers  and  mar- 
quises, and  thought  I  was  hobnobbing  with  '  the  Duke,'  or 
dancing  a  cotillon  with  Lord  Brougham  at  Windsor. 

"  I  began  to  doubt  if  a  highly  imaginative  temperament,  a 
richly  endowed  fancy,  a  mind  glowing  with  bright  and  glit- 
tering  conceptions,  an   organization   strongly   poetical,    be 


THE   COUPE   OF  THE   NOKTH  MIDLAND.  219 

gifts  suited  to  the  career  and  habits  of  a  commercial  trav- 
eller. The  base  aud  grovelling  tastes  of  manufacturing  dis- 
tricts, the  low  tone  of  country  shopkeepers,  the  mean  aud 
narrow-minded  habits  of  people  in  the  hardware  line,  distress 
and  irritate  a  man  with  tastes  and  aspirations  above  smoke- 
jacks  and  saucepans.  He  may,  it  is  true,  sometimes  under- 
value them ;  they  never,  by  any  chance,  can  understand 
him.  Thus  was  it  from  the  hour  I  made  the  Duke's  acquaint- 
ance, —  business  went  ill  with  me  ;  the  very  philosophy  that 
supported  me  under  all  my  trial  seemed  only  to  offend 
them  ;  and  more  than  once  I  was  insulted,  because  I  said  at 
parting,  '  Never  mind,  —  in  office  or  out,  we  have  always  our 
influence.'  The  end  of  it  was,  I  lost  my  situation ;  my 
employers  coolly  said  that  my  brain  did  n't  seem  all  right, 
and  they  sent  me  about  my  business,  —  a  pleasant  phrase 
that,  —  for  when  a  man  is  turned  adrift  upon  the  world,  with- 
out an  object  or  an  occupation,  with  nowhere  to  go  to,  noth- 
ing to  do,  and,  mayhap,  nothing  to  eat,  he  is  then  said  to  be 
sent  about  his  business.  Can  it  mean  that  his  only  business 
then  is  to  drown  himself?  Such  were  not  my  thoughts, 
assuredly.  I  made  my  late  master  a  low  bow,  and,  mutter- 
ing my  old  refrain  '  lu  office  or  out,'  etc.,  took  my  leave  and 
walked  off.  For  a  day  or  two  I  hunted  the  coffee-houses  to 
read  all  the  newspapers,  and  discover,  if  I  could,  what  gov- 
ernment situations  were  then  vacant;  for  I  knew  that  the 
great  secret  in  these  matters  is  always  to  ask  for  some 
definite  post  or  employment,  because  the  refusal,  if  you  meet 
it,  suggests  the  impression  of  disappointment,  and,  although 
they  won't  make  you  a  Treasury  Lord,  there  's  no  saying  but 
they  may  appoint  you  a  Tide-waiter.  I  fell  upon  evil  days, 
—  excepting  a  Consul  for  Timbuctoo,  and  a  Lord  Lieutenant 
for  Ireland,  there  was  nothing  wanting,  — the  latter  actually, 
as  the  'Times'  said,  was  going  a-begging.  In  the  corner 
of  the  paper,  however,  almost  hidden  from  view,  I  discovered 
that  a  collector  of  customs  —  I  forget  where  exactly  —  had 
been  eaten  by  a  crocodile,  and  his  post  was  in  the  gift  of  the 
Colonial  Office.  '  Come,  here 's  the  very  thing  for  me,' 
thought  I.  '  "  In  office  or  out "  —  now  for  it ; '  and  with  that 
I  hurried  to  my  lodgings  to  dress  for  my  interview  with  his 
Grace  of  Devonshire. 


220  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

"  There  is  a  strange  flutter  of  expectauey,  doubt,  and 
pleasure  in  the  preparation  one  makes  to  visit  a  person 
whose  exalted  sphere  and  higher  rank  have  made  him  a 
patron  to  you.  It  is  like  the  sensation  felt  on  enterhig  a 
large  shop  with  your  book  of  patterns,  anxious  and  fearful 
whether  you  may  leave  without  an  order.  Such  in  great 
part  were  my  feelings  as  I  drove  along  towards  Devonsliire 
House ;  and  although  pretty  certain  of  the  cordial  reception 
that  awaited  me,  I  did  not  exactly  like  the  notion  of  descend- 
ing to  ask  a  favor. 

"  Every  stroke  of  the  great  knocker  was  answered  by  a 
throb  at  my  own  side,  if  not  as  loud,  at  least  as  moving,  for 
my  summons  was  left  unanswered  for  full  ten  minutes. 
Then,  when  I  was  meditating  on  the  propriety  of  a  second 
appeal,  the  door  was  opened  and  a  very  sleepy-looking  foot- 
man asked  me,  rather  gruffly,  what  I  wanted. 

"  '  To  see  his  Grace  ;   he  is  at  home,  is  n't  he?  ' 

"'Yes,  he  is  at  home,  but  you  cannot  see  him  at  this 
hour;  he's  at  breakfast.' 

"  '  No  matter,'  said  I,  with  the  eas}^  confidence  our  former 
friendship  inspired  ;  '  just  step  up  and  say  Mr.  Baggs,  of  the 
Northern  Circuit,  — Baggs,  do  you  mind?' 

"  '  I  should  like  to  see  myself  give  such  a  message,'  re- 
plied the  fellow,  with  an  insolent  drawl ;  '  leave  your  name 
here,  and  come  back  for  your  answer.' 

"'Take  this,  scullion,'  said  I,  haughtily,  drawing  forth 
my  card,  which  I  did  n't  fancy  producing  at  first,  because  it 
set  forth  as  how  I  was  commercial  traveller  in  the  long  hose 
and  flannel  way,  for  a  house  in  Glasgow.  '  Say  he  is  the 
gentleman  his  Grace  dined  with  at  Chesterfield  in  March 
fast.' 

"  The  mention  of  a  dinner  struck  the  fellow  with  such 
amazement  that  without  venturing  another  word,  or  even  a 
glance  at  my  card,  he  mounted  the  stairs  to  apprise  the  Duke 
of  my  presence. 

"'This  way,  sir;  his  Grace  will  see  you,'  said  he,  in  a 
very  modified  tone,  as  he  returned  in  a  few  minutes  after. 

"  I  threw  on  him  a  look  of  scowling  contempt  at  the  alter- 
ation his  manner  had  undergone,  and  followed  him  upstairs. 
After  passing  through  several  splendid  apartments,  he  opened 


THE   COUPE   OF   THE   NORTH   MIDLAND.  221 

one  side  of  a  folding-door,  and  calling  out  '  Mr.  Baggs,'  shut 
it  behind  me,  leaving  me  in  the  presence  of  a  very  distiu- 
<yuished-looking  personage,  seated  at  breakfast  beside   the 

fire. 

"  '  I  believe  you  are  the  person  that  has  the  Blenheim 
spaniels,'  said  his  Grace,  scarce  tui-ning  his  head  towards 
me  as  he  spoke. 

•' '  No,  my  Lord,  no,  —  never  had  a  dog  in  my  life ;  but 
are  you  —  are  you  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  ? '  cried  I,  in  a 
very  faltering  voice. 

"  'I  believe  so,  sir,'  said  he,  standing  up  and  gazing  at 
me  with  a  look  of  bewildered  astonishment  I  can  never 
forget. 

"  '  Dear  me,'  said  I,  '  how  your  Grace  is  altered  !  You 
were  as  large  again  last  April,  when  we  travelled  down  to 
Nottingham.  Them  light  French  wines,  they  are  ruining 
your  constitution  ;  I  knew  they  would.' 

"The  Duke  made  no  answer,  but  rang  the  bell  violently 
for  some  seconds. 

"' Bless  my  heart,'  said  I,  'it  surely  can't  be  that  I'm 
mistaken.     It's  not  possible  it  wasn't  your  Grace.' 

"  'Who  is  this  man?'  said  the  Duke,  as  the  servant  ap- 
peared in  answer  to  the  bell.     '  TVho  let  him  upstairs?  ' 

"'Mr.  Baggs,  your  Grace,'  he  said.  'He  dined  with 
your  Grace  at  — ' 

"  '  Take  him  away,  give  him  in  charge  to  the  police;  the 
fellow  must  be  punished  for  his  insolence.' 

"  My  head  was  whirling,  and  my  faculties  were  all  astray. 
I  neither  knew  what  I  said,  nor  what  happened  after,  save 
that  I  felt  myself  half  led,  half  pushed,  down  the  stairs  I 
had  mounted  so  confidently  five  minutes  before,  while  the 
liveried  rascal  kept  dinning  into  my  ears  some  threats  about 
two  months'  imprisonment  and  hard  labor.  Just  as  we  were 
passing  through  the  hall,  however,  the  door  of  a  front-parlor 
opened,  and  a  gentleman  in  a  very  elegant  dressing-gown 
stepped  out.  I  had  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  mark  his 
features,  —  my  own  case  absorbed  me  too  completely.  '  I 
am  an  unlucky  wretch,'  said  I,  aloud.  '  Nothing  ever 
prospers  with  me.' 

"'Cheer  up,    old  boy,'   said   he  of  the  dressing-gown: 


000 


TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 


*  fortune  will  take  another  turn  yet ;  but  I  do  confess  you 
hold  miserable  cards.' 

"  The  voice  as  he  spoke  aroused  me.  I  turned  about,  and 
there  stood  my  companion  at  Chesterfield. 

"  '  His  Grace  wants  you,  Mr.  Cavendish,'  said  the  foot- 
man, as  he  opened  the  door  for  me. 

"  '  Let  him  go,  Thomas,'  said  Mr.  Cavendish.  '  There's 
no  harm  in  old  Kaggs.' 

"'Isn't  he  the  Duke?'  gasped  I,  as  he  tripped  upstairs 
without  noticing  me  further. 

"'The  Duke, — no,  bless  your  heart,  he's  his  gentle- 
man ! ' 

' '  Here  was  an  end  of  all  my  cherished  hopes  and  dreams 
of  patronage.  The  aristocratic  leader  of  fashion,  the 
great  owner  of  palaces,  the  Whig  autocrat,  tumbled  down 
into  a  creature  that  aired  newspapers  and  scented  pocket- 
handkerchiefs.  Never  tell  me  of  the  manners  of  the  titled 
classes  again.  Here  was  a  specimen  that  will  satisfy  my 
craving  for  a  life  long ;  and  if  the  reflection  be  so  strong, 
what  must  be  the  body  which  causes  it ! " 


It  is  about  two  years  since  I  was  one  of  that  strange  and 
busy  mob  of  some  five  hundred  people  who  were  assembled 
on  the  platform  in  the  Eluston-Square  station  a  few  minutes 
previous  to  the  starting  of  the  morning  mail-train  for  Bir- 
mingham. To  the  unoccupied  observer  the  scene  might 
have  been  an  amusing  one ;  the  little  domestic  incidents  of 
leave-taking  and  embracing,  the  careful  looking  after  lug- 
gage and  parcels,  the  watchful  anxieties  for  a  lost  cloak 
or  a  stray  carpet-bag,  blending  with  the  affectionate  fare- 
wells of  parting,  are  all  curious,  while  the  studious  prepara- 
tion for  comfort  of  the  old  gentleman  in  the  coupe  oddly 
contrast  with  similar  arrangements  on  a  more  limited  scale 
by  the  poor  soldier's  wife  in  the  third-class  carriage. 

Small  as  the  segment  of  humanity  is,  it  is  a  type  of  the 
great  world  to  which  it  belongs. 

I  sauntered  carelessly  along  the  boarded  terrace,  investi- 
gating, by  the  light  of  the  guard's  lantern,  the  inmates  of 


224  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

the  different  carriages,  and,  calling  to  my  assistance  my 
tact  as  a  physiognomist  as  to  what  party  I  should  select  for 
my  fellow-passengers,  —  "Not  in  there,  assnredly,"  said  I 
to  myself,  as  I  saw  the  aquiline  noses  and  dark  eyes  of  two 
Hamburgh  Jews  ;  "  nor  here,  either,  —  I  cannot  stand  a  day 
in  a  nursery ;  nor  will  this  party  suit  me,  that  old  gentleman 
is  snoring  already ;  "  and  so  I  walked  on  until  at  last  1 
bethought  me  of  an  empty  carriage,  as  at  least  possessing 
negative  benefits,  since  positive  ones  were  denied  me. 
Scarcely  had  the  churlish  determination  seized  me,  when  the 
glare  of  the  light  fell  upon  the  side  of  a  bonnet  of  white 
lace,  through  whose  transparent  texture  a  singularly  lovely 
profile  could  be  seen.  Features  purely  Greek  in  their 
ciaaracter,  tinged  with  a  most  delicate  color,  were  defined 
by  a  dark  mass  of  hair,  worn  in  a  deep  band  along  the  cheek 
almost  to  the  chin.  There  was  a  sweetness,  a  look  of 
guileless  innocence,  in  the  character  of  the  face  which,  even 
by  the  flitting  light  of  the  lantern,  struck  me  strongly.  I 
made  the  guard  halt,  and  peeped  into  the  carriage  as  if 
seeking  for  a  friend.  By  the  uncertain  flickering,  I  could 
detect  the  figure  of  a  man,  apparently  a  young  one,  by  the 
lady's  side  ;  the  carriage  had  no  other  traveller.  "  This  will 
do,"  thought  I,  as  I  opened  the  door,  and  took  my  place  on 
the  opposite  side. 

Every  traveller  knows  that  locomotion  must  precede  con- 
versation ;  the  veriest  commonplace  cannot  be  hazarded 
till  the  piston  is  in  motion  or  the  paddles  are  flapping. 
The  w^ord  "Go  on"  is  as  much  for  the  passengers  as  the 
vehicle,  and  the  train  and  the  tongues  are  set  in  movement 
together;  as  for  m^'self,  I  have  been  long  upon  the  road, 
and  might  travesty  the  words  of  our  native  poet,  and 
say, — 

"  My  home  is  on  tlie  highway." 

I  have  therefore  cultivated,  and  I  trust  with  some  success, 
the  tact  of  divining  the  cliaracters,  condition,  and  rank  of 
fellow-ti-avellers,  — the  speculation  on  whose  peculiarities  has 
often  served  to  wile  away  the  tediousness  of  many  a  weari- 
some road  and  many  an  uniiiteresting  journey. 

The   little   lamp   which    hung   aloft  gave  me   but   slight 


THE   WHITE   LxiCE   BONNET.  225 

Opportunity  of  prosecuting  my  favorite  study  on  this 
occasion.  All  that  I  could  trace  was  the  outline  of  a  young 
and  delicatelj'  formed  girl,  enveloped  iu  a  cashmere  shawl,  — 
a  slight  and  inadequate  muffling  for  the  road  at  such  a 
season.  The  gentleman  at  her  side  was  attired  in  what 
seemed  a  dress-coat,  noi-  was  he  provided  with  any  other 
defence  against  the  cold  of  the  morning. 

Scarcely  had  I  ascertained  these  two  facts,  when  the  lamp 
flared,  flickered,  and  went  out,  leaving  me  to  speculate  on 
these  vague  but  yet  remarkable  traits  in  the  couple  before 
me.  "  What  can  they  be?  "  "  Who  are  they?  "  "  Where  do 
they  come  from?"  "Where  are  they  going?"  were  all 
questions  which  naturally  presented  themselves  to  me  in 
turn;  yet  every  inquiry  resolved  itself  into  the  one,  "  Why 
has  she  not  a  cloak,  why  has  not  he  got  a  Petersham?" 
Long  and  patiently  did  I  discuss  these  points  with  myself, 
and  framed  numerous  hypotheses  to  account  for  the  cir- 
cumstances, —  but  still  with  comparatively  little  satisfaction, 
as  objections  presented  themselves  to  each  conclusion ;  and 
although,  in  turn,  I  had  made  him  a  runaway  clerk  from 
Coutts's,  a  Liverpool  actor,  a  member  of  the  swell-mob,  and 
a  bagman,  yet  I  could  not,  for  the  life  of  me,  include 
her  in  the  category  of  such  an  individual's  companions. 
Neither  spoke,  so  that  from  their  voices,  that  best  of  all 
tests,  nothing  could  be  learned. 

Wearied  by  my  doubts,  and  worried  by  the  interruption  to 
my  sleep  the  early  rising  necessitated,  I  fell  soon  into  a  sound 
doze,  lulled  by  the  soothing  "  strains"  a  locomotive  so  emi- 
nently is  endowed  with.  The  tremulous  quavering  of  the 
carriage,  the  dull  roll  of  the  heavy  wheels,  the  convulsive 
beating  and  heaving  of  the  black  monster  itself,  gave  the 
tone  to  my  sleeping  thoughts,  and  my  dreams  were  of  the 
darkest.  I  thought  that,  in  a  gloomy  silence,  we  were 
journeying  over  a  wild  and  trackless  plain,  with  no  sight 
nor  sound  of  man,  save  such  as  accompanied  our  sad  pro- 
cession ;  that  dead  and  leafless  trees  were  grouped  about, 
and  roofless  dwellings  and  blackened  walls  marked  the 
dreary  earth ;  dark  sluggish  streams  stole  heavily  past, 
with  noisome  weeds  upon  their  surface ;  while  along  the 
sedgy  banks  sat  leprous  and    glossy  reptiles,  glaring  with 

VOL.    II.  — 15 


226 


TALES   OF  THE  TRAINS. 


round  eyes  upon  us.  Suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  our  speed 
Increased;  the  eartli  and  sky  flew  faster  past,  and  objects 
became  dim  and  in- 
distinct ;  a 
maze  of 
plain  a 
clouded 

heaven  were 

all   I  could 

discern ; 

while 

straight 

in  front,  by 

the  lurid  glar 


whose  sp 

flitted    round 

and  about, 

two    dark 

v{      shapes  danced 

\  ^  >\       a    wild    and 

goblin  measure, 

tossing    their 

black  limbs  with 

fantio  eestuve,  .bile  they  br^ntehed  ™  t;-^-.  f  "^f: 
of  seething  iron;  one,  larger  and  more  d.eadful  than 


THE   WHITE   LACE   BONNET.  227 

other,  sung  in  a  "  rauque "  voice,  that  sounded  like  the 
clank  of  machinery,  a  rude  song,  beating  time  to  the  tune 
with  his  iron  bar.  The  monotonous  measure  of  the  chant, 
which  seldom  varied  in  its  note,  sank  deep  into  my  chilled 
heart ;  and  I  think  I  hear  still 


THE   SOXG   OF   THE   STOKER. 


Rake,  rake,  rake, 

Ashes,  cinders,  aud  coal ; 
The  fire  we  make. 
Must  never  slake. 

Like  the  fire  that  roasts  a  soul. 

Hurrah !  my  boys,  't  is  a  glorious  uoise, 

To  list  to  the  stormy  main  ; 
But  nor  wave-lash'd  shore 
Nor  liou's  roar 

E'er  equall'd  a  luggage  train. 

'Neath  the  panting  sun  our  course  we  run, 

No  water  to  slake  our  thirst ; 
Nor  ever  a  pool 
Our  tongue  to  cool, 

Except  the  boiler  burst. 

The  courser  fast,  the  trumpet's  blast, 

Sigh  after  us  in  vain ; 
And  even  the  wind 
We  leave  behind 

With  the  speed  of  a  special  train. 

Swift  we  pass  o'er  the  wild  morass. 
The'  the  night  be  starless  and  black; 

Onward  we  go, 

Where  the  snipe  flies  low, 

Nor  man  dares  follow  our  track. 

A  mile  a  minute,  on  we  go. 

Hurrah  for  my  courser  fast ; 
His  coal-black  maue, 
And  his  fiery  train. 

And  his  breath  —  a  furnace  blast. 


228  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

On  aiul  on,  till  the  day  is  gone, 

We  rush  with  a  goblin  scream ; 
And  the  cities,  at  night. 
They  start  with  affright, 

At  the  cry  of  escaping  steam. 

Bang,  bang,  bang ! 

Shake,  shiver,  and  throb; 
The  sound  of  our  feet 
Is  the  piston's  beat. 

And  tlie  opening  valve  our  sob ! 

Our  union-jack  is  the  smoke-train  black, 

That  thick  from  the  funnel  rolls ; 
And  our  bounding  bark 
Is  a  gloomy  ark, 

And  our  cargo  —  human  souls. 

Rake,  rake,  rake, 

Ashes,  cinders,  and  coal ; 
The  fire  we  make, 
Must  never  slake, 

Like  the  fire  that  roasts  a  soul. 

"  Bang,  bang,  bang  !  "  said  I,  aloud,  repeating  this  infer- 
nal "refrain,"  and  with  an  energy  that  made  my  two 
fellow-travellers  burst  out  laughing.  This  awakened  me 
from  my  sleep,  and  enabled  me  to  throw  off  the  fearful 
incubus  which  rested  on  my  bosom ;  so  strongly,  however, 
was  the  image  of  my  dream,  so  vivid  the  picture  my 
mind  had  conjured  up,  and,  stranger  than  all,  so  perfect 
was  the  memory  of  the  demoniac  song,  that  I  could  not 
help  relating  the  whole  vision,  and  repeating  for  my  com- 
panions the  words,  as  I  have  here  done  for  the  reader. 
As  I  proceeded  in  my  narrative,  I  had  ample  time  to 
observe  the  couple  before  me.  The  lady — for  it  is  but 
suitable  to  begin  with  her  —  was  j'oung,  she  could  scarcely 
have  been  more  than  twenty,  and  looked  by  the  broad 
daylight  even  handsomer  than  by  the  glare  of  the  guard's 
lantern ;  she  was  slight,  but,  as  well  as  I  could  observe, 
her  figure  was  very  gracefully  formed,  and  with  a  decided 
air  of  elegance  detectable  even  in  the  ease  and  repose  of 
her  attitude.  Her  dress  was  of  pale  blue  silk,  around  the 
collar  of  which  she  wore  a  profusion  of  rich  lace,  of  what 


THE   WHITE   LACE   BONNET.  229 

peculiar  loom  I  am,  unhappily,  uuable  to  say ;  nor  would 
1  allude  to  the  circumstance,  save  that  it  formed  one  of 
the  most  embarrassing  problems  in  my  efforts  at  divining 
her  rank  and  condition.  Never  was  there  such  a  travelling- 
costume  ;  and  although  it  suited  perfectly  the  frail  and 
delicate  beauty  of  the  wearer,  it  ill  accorded  with  the 
dingy  "  conveniency  "  in  which  we  journeyed.  Even  to  her 
shoes  and  stockings  (for  I  noticed  these,  —  the  feet  were 
perfect)  and  gloves,  —  all  the  details  of  her  dress  had  a 
freshness  and  propriety  one  rarely  or  ever  sees  encounter- 
ing the  wear  and  tear  of  the  road.  The  young  gentleman 
at  her  side  —  for  he,  too,  was  scarcely  more  than  five-and- 
twenty,  at  most  —  was  also  attired  in  a  costume  as  little  like 
that  of  a  traveller;  a  dress-coat  and  evening  waistcoat, 
over  which  a  profusion  of  chains  were  festooned  in  that 
mode  so  popular  in  our  day,  showed  that  he  certainly,  in 
arranging  his  costume,  had  other  thoughts  than  of  wasting 
such  attractions  on  the  desert  air  of  a  railroad  journey. 
He  was  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  with  that  mixture  of 
frankness  and  careless  ease  the  youth  of  England  so 
eminently  possess,  in  contradistinction  to  the  young  men 
of  other  countries ;  his  manner  and  voice  both  attested 
that  he  belonged  to  a  good  class,  and  the  general  courtesy 
of  his  demeanor  showed  one  who  had  lived  in  society. 
While  he  evinced  an  evident  desire  to  enter  into  conver- 
sation and  amuse  his  companion,  there  was  still  an  ap- 
pearance of  agitation  and  incertitude  about  him  which 
showed  that  his  mind  was  wandering  very  far  from  the 
topic  before  him.  More  than  once  he  checked  himself, 
in  the  course  of  some  casual  merriment,  and  became  sud- 
denly grave,  —  while  from  time  to  time  he  whispered  to 
the  young  lady,  with  an  appearance  of  anxiety  and  eager- 
ness all  his  endeavors  could  not  effectually  conceal.  She, 
too,  seemed  agitated,  —  but,  I  thought,  less  so  than  he; 
it  might  be,  however,  that  from  the  habitual  quietude  of 
her  manner,  the  traits  of  emotion  were  less  detectable  by 
a  stranger.  We  had  not  journeyed  far,  when  several  new 
travellers  entered  the  carriage,  and  thus  broke  up  the 
little  intercourse  which  had' begun  to  be  established  between 
us.     The  new  arrivals  were  amusing  enough  in  their  way,  — 


230  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

there  was  a  hearty  old  Quaker  from  Leeds,  who  was  full  of 
a  dinner-party  he  had  been  at  with  Feargus  O'Connor,  the 
day  before  ;  there  was  an  interesting  young  fellow  who  had 
obtained  a  fellowship  at  Cambridge,  and  was  going  down  to 
visit  his  family  ;  and  lastly,  a  loud-talking,  loud-laughing 
member  of  the  tail,  in  the  highest  possible  spirits  at  the  pros- 
pect of  Irish  politics,  and  exulting  in  the  festivities  he  was 
about  to  witness  at  Derrynane  Abbey,  whither  he  was 
then  proceeding  with  some  other  Danaides,  to  visit  what 
Tom  Steele  calls  "  his  august  leader."  My  young  friends, 
however,  partook  little  in  the  amusement  the  newly  arrived 
travellers  afforded  ;  they  neither  relished  the  broad,  quaint 
common-sense  of  the  Quaker,  the  conversational  cleverness 
of  the  Cambridge  man,  or  the  pungent  though  somewhat 
coarse  drollery  of  the  "  Emeralder."  They  sat  either 
totally  silent  or  conversing  in  a  low,  indistinct  murmur,  with 
their  heads  turned  towards  each  other.  The  Quaker  left 
us  at  Warwick,  the  "Fellow"  took  his  leave  soon  after, 
and  the  O'Somebody  was  left  behind  at  a  station ;  the  last 
thing  I  heard  of  him,  being  his  frantic  shouting  as  the 
train  moved  off,  while  he  was  endeavoring  to  swallow  a 
glass  of  hot  brandy  and  water.  We  were  alone  then 
once  more ;  but  somehow  the  interval  which  had  occurred 
had  chilled  the  warm  current  of  our  intercourse ;  perhaps, 
too,  the  effects  of  a  long  day's  journey  were  telling  on  us 
all,  and  we  felt  that  indisposition  to  converse  which  steals 
over  even  the  most  habitual  traveller  towards  the  close 
of  a  daj^  on  the  road.  Partly  from  these  causes,  and  more 
strongly  still  from  m}'  dislike  to  obtrude  conversation  upon 
those  whose  minds  were  evidently  preoccupied,  I  too  lay 
back  in  my  seat  and  indulged  my  own  reflections  in  silence. 
I  had  sat  for  some  time  thus,  I  know  not  exactly  how  long, 
when  the  voice  of  the  j^oung  lady  struck  on  my  ear ;  it  was 
one  of  those  sweet,  tinkling  silver  sounds  which  somehow 
when  heard,  however  slightly,  have  the  effect  at  once  to  dis- 
sipate the  dull  routine  of  one's  own  thoughts,  and  suggest 
others  more  relative  to  the  speaker. 

"  Had  you  not  better  ask  him?  "  said  she  ;  "I  am  sure  he 
can  tell  you."  The  youth  apparent!}-  demurred,  while  she 
insisted  the  more,  and  at  length,  as  if  yielding  to  her  entreaty, 


THE   WHITE   LACE  BONNET.  231 

he  suddenly  turned  towards  me  and  said,  "I  am  a  perfect 
stranger  here,  and  would  feel  obliged  if  you  could  inform  me 
which  is  the  best  hotel  in  Liverpool."  He  made  a  slight 
pause  and  added,  "I  mean  a  quiet  family  hotel." 

"  I  rarely  stop  in  the  town  myself,"  replied  I ;  "  but  when 
I  do,  to  breakfast  or  dine,  I  take  the  Adelphi.  I  'm  sure  you 
will  find  it  very  comfortable." 

They  again  conversed  for  a  few  moments  together ;  and 
the  young  man,  with  an  appearance  of  some  hesitation,  said, 
"Do  j'ou  mean  to  go  there  now,  sir?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "my  intention  is  to  take  a  hasty  dinner 
before  I  start  in  the  steamer  for  Ireland ;  I  see  by  my  watch 
I  shall  have  ample  time  to  do  so,  as  we  shall  arrive  full  half 
an  hour  before  our  time." 

Another  pause,  and  another  little  discussion  ensued,  the 
only  words  of  which  I  could  catch  from  the  young  lady 
being,  "  I'm  certain  he  will  have  no  objection."  Conceiving 
that  these  referred  to  myself,  and  guessing  at  their  probable 
import,  I  immediately  said,  "  If  you  will  allow  me  to  be 
your  guide,  I  shall  feel  most  happy  to  show  you  the  way ; 
we  can  obtain  a  carriage  at  the  station,  and  proceed  thither 
at  once." 

I  was  right  in  my  surmise  —  both  parties  were  profuse  in 
their  acknowledgments  —  the  young  man  avowing  that  it 
was  the  very  request  he  was  about  to  make  when  I  antici- 
pated him.  We  arrived  in  due  time  at  the  station,  and,  hav- 
ing assisted  my  new  acquaintances  to  alight,  I  found  little 
difficulty  in  placing  them  in  a  carriage,  for  luggage  they  had 
none,  neither  portmanteau  nor  carpet-bag  —  not  even  a  dress- 
ing-case —  a  circumstance  at  which,  however,  I  might  have 
endeavored  to  avoid  expressing  my  wonder,  they  seemed  to 
feel  required  an  explanation  at  their  hands ;  both  looked 
confused  and  abashed,  nor  was  it  until  by  busying  my- 
self in  the  details  of  my  own  baggage,  that  I  was  enabled 
to  relieve  them  from  the  embarrassment  the  circumstance 
occasioned. 

"Here  we  are,"  said  I:  "this  is  the  Adelphi,"  as  we 
stopped  at  that  comfortable  and  hospitable  portal,  through 
which  the  fumes  of  brown  gravy  and  ox-tail  float  with  a 
savor}'  odor  as  pleasant  to  him  who  enters  with  dinner  inten- 
tions as  it  is  tantalizing  to  the  listless  wanderer  without. 


232 


TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 


The  lady  thanked  me  with  a  smile,  as  I  handed  her  into 
the  house,  and  a  very  sweet  smile  too,  and  one  I  could  have 

fancied  the  young  man  would 
have  felt  a  little  jealous 
of,  if  I  had  not 
seen  the  ten  times 
more  fascinating 
one  she  bestowed 
on  him. 

The  3'oung  man 
acknowledged  my 
slight  service  with 
thanks,  and  made 
a   half  gesture 
to  shake  hands 
at    parting, 
which,     though 
a  failure,    I 
rather  liked,  as 
evidencing, 
even  in    its 
awkward- 
ness,  a  kind- 
ness of  dis- 
position — 
for  so 


it  is.    Gratitude 

smacks     poorly     ^    kT^^^j^.i        ^    ,    ^^^  ■  ^       ^.j 
when  expressed          ^-^v^  ^j^.-i?  ^^ 

in  trim  and  measured  phrase ;  it  seems  not  the  natural 
coinage  of  the  heart  when  the  impression  betrays  too  clearly 
the  mint  of  the  mind. 


I 


UNlVEriSITY    } 

THE   WHITE   LACE   BONNET.  233 


"  Good-bye,"  said  I,  as  I  watched  their  retiring  figures  up 
the  wide  staircase.  "She  is  devilish  pretty;  and  what  a 
wood  figure  !  I  did  not  think  any  other  than  a  French  woman 
could  adjust  her  shawl  in  that  fashion."  And  with  these  very 
soothing  reflections  I  betook  myself  to  the  coffee-room,  and 
soon  was  deep  in  discussing  the  distinctive  merits  of  mulli- 
gatawny, mock-turtle,  or  mutton  chops,  or  listening  to  that 
everlasting  ptean  every  waiter  in  England  sings  in  praise  of 
the  "joint." 

In  all  the  luxury  of  my  own  little  table,  with  my  own 
little  salt-cellar,  my  own  cruet-stand,  my  beer-glass,  aud  its 
younger  brother  for  wine,  I  sat  awaiting  the  arrival  of  my 
fare,  and  puzzling  my  brain  as  to  the  unknown  travellers. 
Now,  had  they  been  but  clothed  in  the  ordinary  fashion  of 
the  road,  — if  the  lady  had  worn  a  plaid  cloak  and  a  beaver 
bonnet,  —  if  the  gentleman  had  a  brown  Taglioui  and  a  cloth 
cap,  with  a  cigar-case  peeping  out  of  his  breast-pocket,  like 
everybody  else  in  this  smoky  world,  —  had  they  but  the 
ordinary  allowance  of  trunks  and  boxes,  —  I  should  have 
been  coolly  conning  over  the  leading  article  of  the  "  Times," 
or  enjoying  the  spicy  leader  in  the  last  "Examiner;  "  but, 
no,  —  they  had  shrouded  themselves  in  a  mystery,  though  not 
in  garments ;  and  the  result  was  that  T,  gifted  with  that 
inquiring  spirit  which  Paul  Pry  informs  us  is  the  character- 
istic of  the  age,  actually  tortured  myself  into  a  fever  as  to 
who  and  what  they  might  be,  —  the  origin,  the  course,  and 
the  probable  termination  of  their  present  adventure,  —  for  an 
adventure  I  determined  it  must  be.  "  People  do  such  odd 
things  nowadays,"  said  I,  "there's  no  knowing  what  the 
deuce  they  may  be  at.  I  wish  I  even  knew  their  names,  for 
I  am  certain  I  shall  read  to-morrow  or  the  next  day  in  the 
second  column  of  the  '  Times,'  '  Why  will  not  AV.  P.  and  C.  P. 
return  to  their  afflicted  friends?  TTrite  at  least,  — write  to 
your  bereaved  parents.  No.  12  Russell  Square;'  or,  'If  F. 
M.  S.  will  not  inform  her  mother  whither  she  has  gone,  the 
deaths  of  more  than  two  of  the  family  will  be  the  conse- 
quence.'" Now,  could  I  only  find  out  their  names,  I  could 
relieve  so  much  family  apprehension  —  Here  comes  the  soup, 
however,  —  admirable  relief  to  a  worried  brain  !  how  every 
mouthful  swamps    reflection !  —  even    the    platitude   of   the 


234  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

waiter's  face  is,  as  the  Methodists  say,  "  a  blessed  privilege," 
so  agreeably  does  it  divest  the  mind  of  a  thought  the  more, 
and  suggest  that  pleasant  vacuity  so  essential  to  the  hour  of 
dinner.  The  tureen  was  gone,  and  then  came  one  of  those 
strange  intervals  which  all  taverns  bestow,  as  if  to  test  the 
extent  of  endurance  and  patience  of  their  guests. 

My  thoughts  turned  at  once  to  their  old  track.  "  I 
have  it,"  said  I,  as  a  bloody-minded  suggestion  shot  through 
my  brain.  "  This  is  an  affair  of  charcoal  and  oxalic  acid, 
this  is  some  damnable  device  of  arsenic  or  sugar-of-lead, 
—  these  young  wretches  have  come  down  here  to  poison 
themselves,  and  be  smothered  in  that  mode  latterly  intro- 
duced among  us.  There  will  be  a  double-locked  door  and 
smell  of  carbonic  gas  through  the  key-hole  in  the  morning. 
I  have  it  all  before  me,  even  to  the  maudlin  letter,  with  its 
twenty-one  verses  of  maudlin  poetry  at  the  foot  of  it.  I 
think  I  hear  the  coroner's  charge,  and  see  the  three  shillings 
and  eightpence  halfpenny  produced  before  the  jur}',  that 
were  found  in  the  youth's  possession,  together  with  a  small 
key  and  a  bill  for  a  luncheon  at  Birmingham.  By  Jove,  I 
will  prevent  it,  though  ;  I  will  spoil  their  fun  this  time  ;  if  they 
will  have  physic,  let  them  have  something  just  as  nauseous, 
but  not  so  injurious.  My  own  notion  is  a  basin  of  this  soup 
and  a  slice  of  the  '  joint,'  and  here  it  comes ;  "  and  thus 
my  meditations  were  again  destined  to  be  cut  short,  and 
re  very  give  way  to  reality. 

I  was  just  helping  myself  to  my  second  slice  of  mutton, 
when  the  young  man  entered  the  coffee-room,  and  walked 
towards  me.  At  first  his  manner  evinced  liesitation  and 
indecision,  and  he  turned  to  the  fireplace,  as  if  with  some 
change  of  purpose ;  then,  as  if  suddenly  summoning  his 
resolution,  he  came  up  to  the  table  at  which  I  sat,  and 
said,  — 

"  Will  you  favor  me  with  five  minutes  of  your  time?  " 

"By  all  means,"  said  I;  "  sit  down  here,  and  I'm  your 
man;  you  must  excuse  me,  though,  if  I  proceed  with  my 
dinner,  as  I  see  it  is  past  six  o'clock,  and  the  packet  sails 
at  seven." 

"  Pray,  proceed,"  replied  he ;  "  your  doing  so  will  in  part 
excuse  the  liberty  I  take  in  obtruding  myself  upon  you." 


THE  WHITE  LACE  BONNET.  235 

He  paused,  and  although  I  waited  for  him  to  resume, 
he  appeared  in  no  humor  to  do  so,  but  seemed  more  con- 
fused than  before. 

''Hang  it,"  said  he  at  length,  "  I  am  a  very  bungling 
negotiator,  and  never  in  my  life  could  manage  a  matter  of 
any  difficulty. " 

••  Take  a  glass  of  sherry,"  said  I;  "  try  if  that  may  not 
assist  to  recall  your  faculties." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  he ;  ''I  have  taken  a  bottle  of  it  already, 
and,  by  Jove,  I  rather  think  my  head  is  only  the  more 
addled.  Do  you  know  that  I  am  in  a  most  confounded 
scrape.  I  have  run  away  with  that  young  lady ;  we  were 
at  an  evening-party  last  night  together,  and  came  straight 
away  from  the  supper-table  to  the  train." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  I,  laying  down  my  knife  and  fork,  not  a 
little  gratified  that  I  was  at  length  to  learn  the  secret  that 
had  so  long  teased  me.  "  And  so  you  have  run  away  with 
her !  " 

"Yes;  it  was  no  sudden  thought,  however,  —  at  least,  it 
was  an  old  attachment ;  I  have  known  her  these  two  months." 

"Oh!  oh!"  said  I;  "then  there  was  prudence  in  the 
affair." 

"Perhaps  you  will  say  so,"  said  he,  quickly,  "when  I 
tell  you  she  has  £30,000  in  the  Funds,  and  something  like 
£1700  a  year  besides, — not  that  I  care  a  straw  for  the 
money,  but,  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  that  kind  of  thing  has 
its  klat" 

"So  it  has,"  said  I,  "and  a  very  pretty  edat  it  is,  and 
one  that,  somehow  or  another,  preserves  its  attractions  much 
longer  than  most  surprises;  but  I  do  not  see  the  scrape, 
after  all." 

"I  am  coming  to  that,"  said  he,  glancing  timidly  around 
the  room.  "The  affair  occurred  this  wise:  we  were  at  an 
evening-party,  —  a  kind  of  dejeune,  it  was,  on  the  Thames, 
—  Charlotte  came  with  her  aunt,  —  a  shrewish  old  damsel, 
that  has  no  love  for  me;  in  fact,  she  very  soon  saw  my 
game,  and  resolved  to  thwart  it.  Well,  of  course  I  was 
obliged  to  be  most  circumspect,  and  did  not  venture  to 
approach  her,  not  even  to  ask  her  to  dance,  the  whole 
evening.     As  it  grew  late,  however,  I  either  became  more 


236  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

courageous  or  less  cautious,  aud  I  did  ask  her  for  a  waltz. 
The  old  lady  bristled  up  at  once,  aud  asked  for  her  shawl. 
Charlotte  accepted  my  invitation,  and  said  she  would 
certainly  not  retire  so  early ;  aud  I,  to  tut  the  matter  short, 
led  her  to  the  top  of  the  room.  We  waltzed  together,  and 
then  had  a  '  gallop,'  and  after  that  some  champagne,  and 
then  another  waltz  ;  for  Charlotte  was  resolved  to  give  the 
old  lady  a  lesson,  —  she  has  spirit  for  anything !  Well,  it 
was  growing  late  by  this  time,  and  we  went  in  search  of 
the  aunt  at  last;  but,  by  Jove!  she  was  not  to  be  found. 
We  hunted  everywhere  for  her,  looked  well  in  every  corner 
of  the  supper-room,  where  it  was  most  likely  we  should 
discover  her  ;  and  at  length,  to  our  mutual  horror  and  dismay, 
we  learned  that  she  had  ordered  tlie  carriage  up  a  full  hour 
before,  and  gone  off,  declaring  that  she  would  send  Char- 
lotte's father  to  fetch  her  home,  as  she  herself  possessed 
no  influence  over  her.  Here  was  a  pretty  business,  —  the 
old  gentleman  being,  as  Charlotte  often  told  me,  the  most 
choleric  man  in  England.  He  had  killed  two  brother  officers 
in  duels,  and  narrowly  escaped  being  hanged  at  Maidstone 
for  shooting  a  waiter  who  delayed  bringing  him  the  water 
to  shave,  —  a  pleasant  old  boy  to  encounter  on  such  an 
occasion  at  this ! 

"  '  He  will  certainly  shoot  me,  —  he  will  shoot  j^ou,  —  he 
will  kill  us  both  ! '  were  the  only  words  she  could  utter ;  and 
my  blood  actually  froze  at  the  prospect  before  us.  You 
may  smile  if  you  like ;  but  let  me  tell  you  that  an  outraged 
father,  with  a  pair  of  patent  revolving  pistols,  is  no  laughing 
matter.  There  was  nothing  for  it,  then,  but  to  '  bolt.*  She 
saw  that  as  soon  as  I  did ;  and  although  she  endeavored  to 
persuade  me  to  suffer  her  to  return  home  alone,  that,  yo\x 
know,  I  never  could  think  of ;  and  so,  after  some  little  de- 
murrings,  some  tears,  and  some  resistance,  we  got  to  the 
Eustou-Square  station,  just  as  the  train  was  going.  You 
may  easily  think  that  neither  of  us  had  much  time  for  prep- 
aration. As  for  m3'self,  I  have  come  away  with  a  ten- 
pound  note  in  my  purse,  — not  a  shilling  more  have  I  in  my 
possession ;  and  here  we  are  now,  half  of  that  sum  spent 
already,  and  how  we  are  to  get  on  to  the  North,  I  cannot  for 
the  life  of  me  conceive." 


THE   WHITE   LACE   BONNET.  237 

"Oh!  that's  it,"  said  I,  peering  at  him  shrewdly  from 
under  my  eyelids. 

"  Yes,  that 's  it ;  don't  you  think  it  is  bad  enough?  "  and 
he  spoke  the  words  with  a  reckless  frankness  that  satisfied 
all  my  scruples.  "I  ought  to  tell  you,"  said  he,  "that  my 
name  is  Blunden ;  I  am  lieutenant  in  the  Buffs,  on  leave  ; 
and  now  that  you  know  my  secret,  will  you  lend  me  twenty 
pounds?  which  perhaps,  may  be  enough  to  carry  us  forward, 
—  at  least,  it  will  do,  until  it  will  be  safe  for  me  to  write  for 
money." 

"But  what  would  bring  you  to  the  North?"  said  I; 
"  why  not  put  yourselves  on  board  the  mail-packet  this 
evening,  and  come  to  Dublin?  We  will  marry  you  there 
just  as  cheaply  ;  pursuit  of  you  will  be  just  as  difficult ;  and 
I  'd  venture  to  say,  you  might  choose  a  worse  land  for  the 
honeymoon." 

"  But  I  have  no  money,"  said  he  ;   "  you  forgot  that." 

"  For  the  matter  of  money,"  said  I,  "  make  your  mind 
easy.  If  the  young  lady  is  going  away  with  her  own  con- 
sent,—  if,  indeed,  she  is  as  anxious  to  get  married  as  you 
are, —  make  me  the  banker,  and  I  '11  give  her  away,  be  the 
bridesmaid,  or  anything  else  you  please." 

"  You  are  a  trump,"  said  he,  helping  himself  to  another 
glass  of  my  sherry  ;  and  then  filling  out  a  third,  which  emptied 
the  bottle,  he  slapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  said,  "  Here  's 
your  health  ;  now  come  upstairs." 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  I,  "  I  must  see  her  alone,  — there 
must  be  no  tampering  with  the  evidence." 

He  hesitated  for  a  second,  and  sui'veyed  me  from  head  to 
foot ;  and  whether  it  was  the  number  of  mj'  double  chins 
or  the  rotundity  of  my  waistcoat  divested  his  mind  of  any 
jealous  scruples,  but  he  smiled  coolly,  and  said,  "  So  you 
shall,  old  buck.  —  we  will  never  quarrel  about  that." 

Upstairs  we  went  accordingly,  and  into  a  handsome  draw- 
ing-room on  the  first  floor,  at  one  end  of  which,  with  her 
head  buried  in  her  hands,  the  young  lady  was  sitting. 

"  Charlotte,"  said  he,  "  this  gentleman  is  kind  enough  to 
take  an  interest  in  our  fortunes,  but  he  desires  a  few  words 
with  you  alone." 

I  waved  my  hand  to  him  to  prevent  his  making  any  further 


238  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

explauatiou,  and  as  a  signal  to  withdraw ;  be  took  the  hint 
aud  left  the  room. 

Now,  thought  I,  this  is  the  second  act  of  the  drama; 
what  the  deuce  am  I  to  do  here  ?  In  the  first  place,  some 
might  deem  it  my  duty  to  admonish  the  young  damsel  on  the 
impropriety  of  the  step,  to  draw  au  afflicting  picture  of  her 
family,  to  make  her  weep  bitter  tears,  and  end  by  persuading 
her  to  take  a  first-class  ticket  in  the  up-train.  This  would 
be  the  grand  parento-morai  line ;  and  I  shame  to  confess  it, 
it  was  never  my  forte.  Secondly,  I  might  pursue  the  inquiry 
suggested  by  myself,  and  ascertain  her  real  sentiments. 
This  might  be  called  the  amico-auxiliary  line.  Or,  lastly, 
I  might  try  a  little  what  might  be  done  on  my  own  score, 
and  not  see  £30,000  and  £1700  a  year  squandered  by  a 
cigar-smoking  lieutenant  in  the  Buffs.  As  there  may  be 
different  opinions  about  this  line,  I  shall  not  give  it  a  name. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that,  notwithstanding  a  sly  peep  at  as  pretty 
a  throat  and  as  well  rounded  an  instep  as  ever  tempted  a 
"  government  Mercury,"  I  was  true  to  my  trust,  and  opened 
the  negotiation  on  the  honest  footing. 

"  Do  you  love  him,  my  little  darling?  "  said  I;  for  some- 
how consolation  always  struck  me  as  own-brother  to  love- 
making.  It  is  like  indorsing  a  bill  for  a  friend,  which, 
though  he  tells  you  he  '11  meet,  you  always  feel  responsible 
for  the  money. 

She  turned  upon  me  an  arch  look.  Bj'  St.  Patrick,  I  half 
regretted  I  had  not  tried  number  three,  as  in  the  sweetest 
imaginable  voice  she  said,  — 

"Do  you  doubt  it?" 

"I  wish  I  could,"  thought  I  to  myself.  No  matter,  it 
was  too  late  for  regrets ;  and  so  I  ascertained,  in  a  very  few 
minutes,  that  she  corroborated  every  portion  of  the  statement, 
and  was  as  deeply  interested  in  the  success  of  the  adventure 
as  himself. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  I.  "  He  is  a  lucky  fellow,  —  I  always 
heard  the  Buffs  were ;  "  and  with  that  I  descended  to  the 
coffee-room,  where  the  young  man  awaited  me  with  the 
greatest  anxiety. 

"  Are  you  satisfied? "  cried  he,  as  I  entered  the  room. 

"Perfectly,"  was  my  answer.     "Aud  now  let  us  lose  no 


THE   WHITE  LACE  BONNET.  239 

more  time ;  it  wants  but  a  quarter  to  seven,  and  we  must  be 
on  board  in  ten  minutes." 

As  I  have  already  remarked,  my  fellow-travellers  were 
not  burdened  with  luggage,  so  there  was  little  difficulty  in 
expediting  their  departure ;  and  in  half  an  hour  from  that 
time  we  were  gliding  down  the  Mersey,  and  gazing  on  the 
spangled  lamps  which  glittered  over  that  great  city  of  soap, 
sugar,  and  sassafras,  train-oil,  timber,  and  tallow.  The 
young  lady  soon  went  below,  as  the  night  was  chilly ;  but 
Blunden  and  myself  walked  the  deck  until  near  twelve 
o'clock,  chatting  over  whatever  came  uppermost,  and  giving 
me  an  opportunity  to  perceive  that,  without  possessing  any 
remarkable  ability  or  cleverness,  he  was  one  of  those  off- 
hand, candid,  clear-headed  young  fellows,  who,  when  trained 
in  the  admirable  discipline  of  the  mess,  become  the  excellent 
specimens  of  well-conducted,  well-mannered  gentlemen  our 
army  abounds  with. 

We  arrived  in  due  course  in  Dublin.  I  took  my  friends 
up  to  Morrison's,  drove  with  them  after  breakfast  to  a  fash- 
ionable milliner's,  where  the  young  lad}',  with  an  admirable 
taste,  selected  such  articles  of  dress  as  she  cared  for,  and  I 
then  saw  them  duly  married.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the 
ceremony  was  performed  by  a  bishop,  or  that  a  royal  duke 
gave  her  away  ;  neither  can  I  state  that  the  train  of  carriages 
comprised  the  equipages  of  the  leading  nobility.  I  only 
vouch  for  the  fact  that  a  little  man,  with  a  black  eye  and  a 
sinister  countenance,  read  a  ceremony  of  his  own  compos- 
ing, and  made  them  write  their  names  in  a  great  book,  and 
pay  thirty  shillings  for  his  services;  after  which  I  put  a 
fifty-pound  note  into  Blunden's  hand,  saluted  the  bride, 
and,  wishing  them  every  health  and  happiness,  took  my 
leave. 

They  started  at  once  with  four  posters  for  the  North,  in- 
tending to  cross  over  to  Scotland.  My  engagements  induced 
me  to  leave  town  for  Cork,  and  in  less  than  a  fortnight  I 
found  at  my  club  a  letter  from  Blunden,  enclosing  the  fifty 
pounds,  with  a  thousand  thanks  for  my  prompt  kindness, 
and  innumerable  affectionate  reminiscences  from  Madame. 
They  were  as  happy  as  —  confound  it,  every  one  is  happy 
for  a  week  or  a  fortnight ;  so  I  crushed  the  letter,  pitched 


240  T^VLES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

it  into  the  fire,  was  rather  pleased  with  myself  for  what  I 
had  done,  and  thought  no  more  of  the  whole  transaction. 

Here  then  my  tale  should  have  an  end,  and  the  moral  is 
obvious.  Indeed,  I  am  not  certain  but  some  may  prefer  it 
to  that  which  the  succeeding  portion  conveys,  thinking  that 
the  codicil  revokes  the  body  of  the  testament.  However 
that  may  be,  here  goes  for  it. 

It  was  about  a  year  after  this  adventure  that  I  made  one 
of  a  party  of  six  travelling  up  to  London  by  the  "Grand 
Junction."  The  company  were  chatty,  pleasant  folk,  and 
the  conversation,  as  often  happens  among  utter  strangers, 
became  anecdotic ;  many  good  stories  were  told  in  turn,  and 
many  pleasant  comments  made  on  them,  when  at  lengtii  it 
occurred  to  me  to  mention  the  somewhat  singular  rencontre 
I  have  already  narrated  as  having  happened  to  myself. 

"Strange  enough,"  said  I,  "the  last  time  I  journeyed 
along  this  line,  nearly  this  time  last  year,  a  very  remark- 
able occurrence  took  place.  I  happened  to  fall  in  with  a 
young  officer  of  the  Ruffs,  eloping  with  an  exceedingly  pretty 
girl ;  she  had  a  large  fortune,  and  was  in  every  respect  a 
great  '  catch ; '  he  ran  away  with  her  from  an  evening  party, 
and  never  remembered,  until  he  arrived  at  Liverpool,  that  he 
had  no  money  for  the  journey.  In  this  dilemma,  the  young 
fellow,  rather  spooney  about  the  whole  thing,  I  think  would 
have  gone  quietly  back  by  the  next  train,  but,  by  Jove,  I 
could  n't  satisfy  my  conscience  that  so  lovely  a  girl  should 
be  treated  in  such  a  manner.  I  rallied  his  courage ;  took 
him  over  to  Ireland  in  the  packet,  and  got  them  married  the 
next  morning." 

"  Have  I  caught  you  at  last,  you  old,  meddling  scoun- 
drel!  "  cried  a  voice,  hoarse  and  discordant  with  passion, 
from  the  opposite  side ;  and  at  the  same  instant  a  short, 
thickset  old  man,  with  shoulders  like  a  Hercules,  sprung  at 
me.  With  one  hand  he  clutched  me  by  the  throat,  and  with 
the  other  he  pummelled  my  head  against  the  panel  of  the 
conveyance,  and  with  such  violence  that  man}'  people  in  the 
next  carriage  averred  that  they  thought  we  had  run  into 
the  down  train.  So  sudden  was  the  old  wretch's  attack, 
and  so  infuriate  withal,  it  took  the  united  force  of  the  other 
passengers  to  detach  him  from  my  neck;  and  even  then,  as 


THE   WHITE  LACE  BONNET.  241 

they  drew  him  off,  he  kicked  at  me  like  a  demon.  Never 
has  it  been  my  lot  to  witness  such  an  outbreak  of  wrath  ; 
and,  indeed,  were  I  to  judge  from  the  symptoms  it  occasioned, 
the  old  fellow  had  better  not  repeat  it,  or  assuredly  apoplexy 
would  follow. 

"  That  villain,  — that  old  ruffian,"  said  he,  glaring  at  me 
with  flashing  eyeballs,  while  he  menaced  me  with  his  closed 
fist,  —  "that  cursed,  meddling  scoundrel  is  the  cause  of  the 
greatest  calamity  of  my  life." 

"Are  you  her  father,  then?"  articulated  I,  faintly,  for  a 
misgiving  came  over  me  that  my  boasted  benevolence  might 
prove  a  mistake.  "Are  you  her  father?"  The  words  were 
not  out,  when  he  dashed  at  me  once  more,  and  were  it  not 
for  the  watchfulness  of  the  others,  inevitably  had  finished 
me. 

"I've  heard  of  you,  my  old  buck,"  said  I,  affecting  a 
degree  of  ease  and  security  my  heart  sadly  belied.  "I've 
heard  of  your  dreadful  temper  already,  —  I  know  you  can't 
control  yourself.  I  know  all  about  the  waiter  at  Maidstone. 
By  Jove,  they  did  not  wrong  you  ;  and  I  am  not  surprised  at 
your  poor  daughter  leaving  you  —  "  But  he  would  not  suffer 
me  to  conclude ;  and  once  more  his  wrath  boiled  over,  and 
all  the  efforts  of  the  others  were  barely  sufficient  to  calm  him 
into  a  semblance  of  reason. 

There  would  be  an  end  to  my  narrative  if  I  endeavored 
to  convey  to  my  reader  the  scene  which  followed,  or  recount 
the  various  outbreaks  of  passion  which  ever  and  anon  in- 
terrupted the  old  man,  and  induced  him  to  diverge  into 
sundry  little  by-ways  of  lamentation  over  his  misfortune, 
and  curses  upon  my  meddling  interference.  Indeed  his 
whole  narrative  was  conducted  more  in  the  staccato  style  of 
an  Italian  opera  father  than  in  the  homely  wrath  of  an 
English  parent;  the  wind-up  of  these  dissertations  being 
always  to  the  one  purpose,  as  with  a  look  of  scowling  pas- 
sion directed  towards  me,  he  said,  "  Only  wait  till  we  reach 
the  station,  and  see  if  I  won't  do  for  you." 

His  tale,  in  few  words,  amounted  to  this.  He  was  the 
Squire  Blunden, —  the  father  of  the  lieutenant  in  the  "Buffs." 
The  youth  had  formed  an  attachment  to  a  lady  whom  he 
had  accidentally  met  in  a  ]Margate  steamer.     The  circum- 

VOL.  11  — 16 


242  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

stances  of  her  family  and  fortune  were  communicated  to  him 
in  confidence  by  herself  ;  and  although  she  expressed  her 
conviction  of  the  utter  impossibility  of  obtaining  her  father's 
consent  to  an  untitled  match,  she  as  resolutely  refused  to 
elope  with  him.  The  result,  however,  was  as  we  have  seen ; 
she  did  elope,  — was  married,  —  they  made  a  wedding  tour  in 
the  Highlands,  and  returned  to  Blunden  Hall  two  mouths 
after,  where  the  old  gentleman  welcomed  them  with  affection 
and  forgiveness.  About  a  fortnight  after  their  return,  it  was 
deemed  necessary  to  make  inquiry  as  to  the  circumstances 
of  her  estate  and  funded  property,  when  the  young  lady  fell 
upon  her  knees,  wept  bitterly,  said  she  had  not  a  six- 
pence, —  that  the  whole  thing  was  a  "  ruse;  "  that  she  had 
paid  five  pounds  for  a  choleric  father,  three  ten  for  an 
aunt  warranted  to  wear  "satin;"  in  fact,  that  she  had 
been  twice  married  before,  and  had  heavy  misgivings  that 
the  husbands  were  still  living. 

There  was  nothing  left  for  it  but  compromise.  "  I  gave 
her,"  said  he,  "  five  hundred  pounds  to  go  to  the  devil,  and 
I  registered,  the  same  day,  a  solemn  oath  that  if  ever  I  met 
this  same  Tramp,  he  should  carry  the  impress  of  my  knuckles 
on  his  face  to  the  day  of  his  death." 

The  train  reached  Harrow  as  the  old  gentleman  spoke.  I 
waited  until  it  was  again  in  motion,  and,  flinging  wide  the 
door,  I  sprang  out,  and  from  that  day  to  this  have  strictly 
avoided  forming  acquaintance  with  a  white  lace  bonnet, 
even  at  a  distance,  or  ever  befriending  a  lieutenant  in  the 
Buffs. 


I  GOT  into  the  Dover  "  down  train  "  at  the  station,  and  after 
seeking  for  a  place  in  two  or  three  of  the  leading  carriages, 
at  last  succeeded  in  obtaining  one  where  there  were  only  two 
other  passengers.  These  were  a  lady  and  a  gentleman,  —  the 
former,  a  young,  pleasing-looking  girl,  dressed  in  quiet 
mourning ;  the  latter  was  a  tall,  gaunt,  bilious-looking  man, 
with  grisly  gray  hair,  and  an  extravagantly  aquiline  nose. 
I  guessed,  from  the  positions  they  occupied  in  the  carriage, 
that  they  were  not  acquaintances,  and  my  conjecture  proved 
subsequently  true.  The  young  lady  was  pale,  like  one  in 
delicate  health,  and  seemed  very  weary  and  tired,  for  she 
was  fast  asleep  as  I  entered  the  carriage,  and  did  not  awake, 
notwithstanding  all  the  riot  and  disturbance  incident  to  the 
station.  I  took  my  place  directly  in  front  of  my  fellow- 
travellers  ;  and  whether  from  mere  accident,  or  from  the  pass- 
ing interest  a  pretty  face  inspires,  cast  my  eyes  towards  the 
lady ;  the  gaunt  man  opposite  fixed  on  me  a  look  of  inex- 
pressible shrewdness,  and  with  a  very  solemn  shake  of  his 
head,  whispered  in  a  low  undertone,  — 


244  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

"No!  no!  not  a  bit  of  it;  she  ain't  asleep,  —  they  never 
do  sleep,  —  never !  " 

"  Oh  I  "  thought  I  to  myself,  '•  there 's  another  class  of  people 
not  remarkable  for  over-drowsiness  ; "  for,  to  say  truth,  the 
expression  of  the  speaker's  face  and  the  oddit}'  of  his  words 
made  me  suspect  that  he  was  not  a  miracle  of  sanity.  The 
reflection  had  scarcely  passed  through  my  mind,  when  he 
arose  softl}'  from  his  seat,  and  assumed  a  place  beside  me. 

"  You  thought  she  was  fast,"  said  he,  as  he  laid  his  hand 
familiarly  on  my  arm;  "I  know  you  did, — I  saw  it  the 
moment  you  came  into  the  carriage." 

"Why,  I  did  think  —  " 

"  Ah  I  that's  deceived  many  a  one.  Lord  bless  you,  sir, 
they  are  not  understood,  no  one  knows  them  ;  "  and  at  these 
words  he  heaved  a  profound  sigh,  and  dropped  his  head 
upon  his  bosom,  as  though  the  sentiment  had  overwhelmed 
him  with  affliction. 

"  Riddles,  sir,"  said  he  to  me,  with  a  glare  of  his  eyes  that 
really  looked  formidable.  —  "  sphinxes  ;  that 's  what  they  are. 
Are  you  married  ? "  whispered  he. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  I,  politely  ;  for  as  I  began  to  entertain 
more  serious  doubts  of  my  companion's  intellect,  I  resolved 
to  treat  him  with  every  civility. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  matters  a  fig,"  said  he ;  "  the  Pope  of 
Rome  knows  as  much  about  them  as  Bluebeard." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  are  these  your  sentiments?  " 

"  They  are,"  replied  he,  in  a  still  lower  whisper ;  "  and  if 
we  were  to  talk  modern  Greek  this  moment,  I  would  not  say 
but  she  "  —  and  here  he  made  a  gesture  towards  the  young 
lady  opposite  —  "  but  sJie  would  know  every  word  of  it.  It 
is  not  supernatural,  sir,  because  the  law  is  universal ;  but  it 
is  a  most  —  .what  shall  I  say,  sir?  —  a  most  extraordinary 
provision  of  nature,  —  wonderful !  most  wonderful !  " 

"In  Heaven's  name,  why  did  they  let  him  out?"  ex- 
claimed I  to  myself. 

"  Now  she  is  pretending  to  awake,"  said  he,  as  he  nudged 
me  with  his  elbow ;  ' '  watch  her,  see  how  well  she  will  do 
it."    Then  turning  to  the  lady,  he  added  in  a  louder  voice,  — 

"  You  have  had  a  refreshing  sleep,  I  trust,  ma'am?" 

"A  very  heavy  one,"  answered  she,  "for  I  was  greatly 
fatisued." 


FAST   ASLEEP  AND   WIDE   AWAKE.  245 

''  Did  not  I  tell  you  so?  "  whispered  he  again  in  my  ear. 
"  Oh !  "  and  here  he  gave  a  deep  groan,  "  when  they  're  in 
delicate  health,  and  they're  greatly  fatigued,  there's  no 
being  up  to  them  !  " 

The  remainder  of  our  journey  was  not  long  in  getting 
over  ;  but  brief  as  it  was,  I  could  not  help  feeling  auuo\'ed  at 
the  pertinacity  with  which  the  bilious  gentleman  purposely 
misunderstood  every  word  the  3'ouug  lady  spoke.  The  most 
plain,  matter-of-fact  observations  from  her  were  received  by 
him  as  though  she  was  a  monster  of  duplicity ;  and  a  casual 
mistake  as  to  the  name  of  a  station  he  pounced  upon,  as 
though  it  were  a  wilful  and  intentional  untruth.  This  con- 
duct, on  his  part,  was  made  ten  times  worse  to  me  by  his 
continued  nudgings  of  the  elbow,  sly  winks,  and  muttered 
sentences  of  '-You  hear  that" — "  There 's  more  of  it"  — 
"  You  would  not  credit  it  now,"  etc.  ;  until  at  length  he  suc- 
ceeded in  silencing  the  poor  girl,  who,  in  all  likelihood,  set  us 
both  down  for  the  two  greatest  savages  in  England. 

On  arriving  at  Dover,  although  I  was  the  bearer  of  de- 
spatches requiring  the  utmost  haste,  a  dreadful  hurricane 
from  the  eastward,  accompanied  by  a  tremendous  swell,  pre- 
vented any  packet  venturing  out  to  sea.  The  commander  of 
"  The  Hornet,"  however,  told  me,  should  the  weather,  as 
was  not  improbable,  moderate  towards  daybreak,  he  would 
do  his  best  to  run  me  over  to  Calais ;  "  onl}^  be  ready,"  said 
he,  "  at  a  moment's  notice,  for  I  will  get  the  steam  up,  and 
be  off  in  a  jiffy,  whenever  the  tide  begins  to  ebb."  In  com- 
pliance with  this  injunction,  I  determined  not  to  go  to  bed, 
and,  ordering  my  supper  in  a  private  room,  I  prepared  myself 
to  pass  the  intervening  time  as  well  as  might  be. 

"Mr.  Yellowley's  compliments,"  said  the  waiter,  as  I 
broke  the  crust  of  a  veal-pie,  and  obtained  a  bird's-eye 
view  of  that  delicious  interior,  where  hard  eggs  and  jelly, 
mushrooms,  and  kidney,  were  blended  together  in  a  delicious 
harmony  of  coloring.  "  Mr.  Yellowley's  compliments,  sir, 
and  will  take  it  as  a  great  favor  if  he  might  join  you  at 
supper." 

"  Have  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing  him,"  said  I,  shortly, 
—  "  bring  me  a  pint  of  sherry,  — don't  know  Mr.  Y'ellow- 
ley." 


246  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

*'  Yes,  but  you  do,  though,"  said  the  gaunt  man  of  the 
railroad,  as  he  entered  the  room,  with  four  cloaks  on  one 
arm,  and  two  umbrellas  under  the  other. 

"  Oh  !  it's  you,"  said  I,  half  rising  from  my  chair  ;  for  in 
spite  of  my  annoj^ance  at  the  intrusion,  a  certain  degree  of 
fear  of  my  companion  overpowered  me. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  solemnly.  "Can  you  untie  this  cap? 
The  string  has  got  into  a  black-knot,  I  fear ;  "  and  so  he 
bent  down  his  huge  face  while  I  endeavored  to  relieve  him 
of  his  head-piece,  woudering  within  myself  whether  they 
had  shaved  him  at  the  asylum. 

"Ah,  that's  comfortable!  "  said  he  at  last;  and  he  drew 
his  chair  to  the  table,  and  helped  himself  to  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  pie,  which  he  covered  profusely  with  red 
pepper. 

Little  conversation  passed  during  the  meal.  My  com- 
panion ate  voraciously,  filling  up  every  little  pause  that 
occurred  by  a  groan  or  a  sigh,  whose  vehemence  and  depth 
were  strangely  in  contrast  with  his  enjoyment  of  the  good 
cheer.  "When  the  supper  was  over,  and  the  waiter  had 
placed  fresh  glasses,  and  with  that  gentle  significance  of 
his  craft  had  deposited  the  decanter,  in  which  a  spoonful 
of  sherry  remained,  directly  in  front  of  me,  Mr.  Yellowley 
looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  threw  up  his  eyebrows,  and 
with  an  air  of  more  bonhomie  than  I  thought  he  could  muster, 
said,  — 

"You  will  have  no  objection,  I  hope,  to  a  little  warm 
brandy  and  water." 

"None  whatever;   and  the  less,  if  I  may  add  a  cigar." 

"  Agreed,"  said  he. 

These  ingredients  of  our  comfort  being  produced,  and  the 
waiter  having  left  the  room,  Mr.  Yellowley  stirred  the  fire 
into  a  cheerful  blaze,  and,  nodding  amicably  towards  me, 
said,  — 

"  Your  health,  sir;  I  should  like  to  have  added  your 
name." 

"Tramp, — Tilbury  Tramp,"  said  I,  "at  your  service." 
I  would  have  added  Q.  C,  as  the  couriers  took  that  lately; 
but  it  leads  to  mistakes,  so  I  said  nothing  about  it. 

"  Mr.    Tramp,"   said   my   companion,    while    he    placed 


FAST  ASLEEP  AND   WIDE   AWAKE.  247 

one  hand  in  his  waistcoat,  in  that  attitude  so  favored  by 
John  Kemble  and  Napoleon.     "  You  are  a  young  man?" 

"  Forty-two,"  said  I,  "  if  I  live  till  June." 

"  You  might  be  a  hundred  and  forty-two,  sir." 

"  Lord  bless  you !  "  said  I,  "  I  don't  look  so  old." 

"I  repeat  it,"  said  he,  "you  might  be  a  hundred  and 
forty-two,  and  not  know  a  whit  more  about  them." 

"  Here  we  are,"  thought  I,  "  back  on  the  monomania." 

"You  may  smile,"  said  he,  "it  was  an  ungenerous  in- 
sinuation. Nothing  was  farther  from  my  thoughts ;  but  it 's 
true, — they  require  the  stud}' of  a  lifetime.  Talk  of  Law 
or  Physic  or  Divinity ;  it 's  child's  play,  sir.  Now,  you 
thought  that  young  girl  was  asleep." 

"  Wh}',  she  certainl}'  looked  so." 

"Looked  so,"  said  he,  with  a  sneer;  "what  do  I  look 
like?     Do  I  look  like  a  man  of  sense  or  intelligence?" 

"  I  protest,"  said  T,  cautiousl}^  "I  won't  suffer  myself  to 
be  led  away  by  appearances ;  I  would  not  wish  to  be  unjust 
to  you." 

"  Well,  sir,  that  artful  young  woman's  deception  of  you 
has  preyed  upon  me  ever  since ;  I  Avas  going  on  to  Walmer 
to-night,  but  I  could  n't  leave  this  without  seeing  you  once 
more,  and  giving  you  a  caution." 

"Dear  me.  I  thought  nothing  about  it.  Y^ou  took  the 
matter  too  much  to  heart." 

"Too  much  to  heart,"  said  he,  with  a  bitter  sneer; 
"that's  the  cant  that  deceives  half  tlie  world.  If  men, 
sir,  instead  of  undervaluing  these  small  and  apparently 
trivial  circumstances,  would  but  recall  their  experiences, 
chronicle  their  facts,  as  Bacon  recommended  so  wisely,  we 
should  possess  some  safe  data  to  go  upon,  in  our  estimate 
of  that  deceitful  sex." 

"  I  fear,"  said  I,  half  timidly,  "you  have  been  ill-treated 
by  the  ladies?  " 

A  deep  groan  was  the  only  response. 

"  Come,  come,  bear  up,"  said  I;  "  you  are  young,  and  a 
fine-looking  man  still  "  (he  was  sixty,  if  he  was  an  hour, 
and  had  a  face  like  the  figure-head  of  a  war-steamer). 

"  I  will  tell  you  a  story,  Mr.  Tramp,"  said  he,  solemnly,  — 
"  a  story  to  which,  probably,  no  historian,  from  Polybius 


248  TALES   OF  THE   TRADJS. 

to  Hoffman,  has  ever  recorded  a  parallel.  I  am  not  aware, 
sir,  that  any  man  has  sounded  the  oceanic  depths  of  that 
perfidious  gulf,  —  a  woman's  heart ;  but  I,  sir,  I  have  at 
least  lidded  some  facts  to  the  narrow  stock  of  our  knowledge 
regaidiiig  it.     Listen  to  this  :  "  — 

I  replenished  my  tumbler  of  brandy  and  water,  looked  at 
my  watch,  and,  finding  I  still  had  two  hours  to  spare,  lent 
a  not  unwilling  ear  to  my  companion's  story. 

"  For  the  purpose  of  my  tale,"  said  Mr.  Yellowlej',  "it  is 
unnecessary  that  I  should  mention  any  incident  of  my  life 
more  remote  than  a  couple  of  years  back.  About  that  time 
it  was,  that,  using  all  the  influence  of  very  powerful  friends, 
I  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  consul-generalship  at  Stralsund. 
My  arrangements  for  departure  were  made  with  considerable 
despatch ;  but  on  the  very  week  of  my  leaving  England,  an 
old  friend  of  mine  was  appointed  to  a  situation  of  consider- 
able trust  in  the  East,  whither  he  was  ordered  to  repair,  I 
may  say,  at  a  moment's  notice.  Never  was  there  such  a 
contretemps.  He  longed  for  the  North  of  Europe,  — I,  with 
equal  ardor,  wished  for  a  tropical  climate ;  and  here  were 
we  both  going  in  the  very  direction  antagonist  to  our  wishes  ! 
My  friend's  appointment  was  a  much  more  lucrative  one 
than  mine  ;  but  so  anxious  was  he  for  a  residence  more  con- 
genial to  his  taste,  that  he  would  have  exchanged  without  a 
moment's  hesitation.  . 

"  By  a  mere  accident,  I  mentioned  this  circumstance  to 
the  friend  who  had  procured  my  promotion.  Well,  with  the 
greatest  alacrity,  he  volunteered  his  services  to  efifect  the  ex- 
change ;  and  with  such  energy  did  he  fulfil  his  pledge,  that 
on  the  following  evening  I  received  an  express,  informing 
me  of  my  altered  destination,  but  directing  me  to  proceed  to 
Southampton  on  the  next  day,  and  sail  by  the  Oriental 
steamer.  This  was  speedy  work,  sir;  but  as  my  prepara- 
tions for  a  journey  had  long  been  made,  I  had  very  little  to 
do,  but  exchange  some  bear-skins  with  my  friend  for  cotton 
shirts  and  jackets,  and  w-e  both  were  accommodated.  Never 
were  two  men  in  higher  spirits,  —  he,  with  his  young  wife, 
delighted  at  escaping  what  he  called  banishment ;  I  equally 
happy  in  my  anticipation  of  the  glorious  East. 

"Among  the   many  papers    forwarded    to   me   from   the 


FAST   ASLEEP   AND   WIDE   AWAKE.  249 

Foreign  Office  was  a  special  order  for  free  trausit  the  whole 
way  to  Calcutta.  This  document  set  forth  the  urgent 
necessity  there  existed  to  pay  me  every  possible  attention 
en  route ;  in  fact,  it  was  a  sort  of  Downing-Street  firman, 
ordering  all  whom  it  might  concern  to  take  care  of  Simon 
Yellowley,  nor  permit  liim  to  suffer  any  let,  impediment,  or 
inconvenience  on  the  road.  But  a  strange  thing,  Mr. 
Tramp,  — a  very  strange  thing,  — was  in  this  paper.  In  the 
exchange  of  my  friend's  appointment  for  my  own,  the  clerk 
had  merely'  inserted  my  name  in  lieu  of  his  in  all  the  papers ; 
and  then,  sir,  what  should  I  discover  but  that  this  free 
transit  extended  to  '  Mr.  Yellowle}'  and  lady,'  while,  doubt- 
less, my  poor  friend  was  obliged  to  travel  en  gar^on  ?  This 
extraordinary  blunder  I  only  discovered  when  leaving  Lon- 
don in  the  train. 

"We  were  a  party  of  three,  sir."  Here  he  groaned 
deeply.  "Three, — just  as  it  might  be  this  very  day.  I 
occupied  the  place  that  j'ou  did  this  morning,  while  opposite 
to  me  were  a  lady  and  a  gentleman.  The  gentleman  was 
an  old  round-faced  little  man,  chatty  and  merry  after  his 
fashion.  The  lady^ — the  lady,  sir  —  if  I  had  never  seen 
her  but  that  day,  I  should  now  call  her  an  angel.  Yes,  Mr. 
Tramp,  I  flatter  m3'self  that  few  men  understand  female 
beauty  better.  I  admire  the  cold  regularity  and  impassive 
loveliness  of  the  North,  I  glory  in  the  voluptuous  magnifi- 
cence of  Italian  beauty ;  I  can  relish  the  sparkling  coquetry 
of  France,  the  plaintive  quietness  and  sleepy  tenderness  of 
Germany  ;  nor  do  I  undervalue  the  brown  pellucid  skin  and 
flashing  eye  of  the  Malabar ;  but  she,  sir,  she  was  something 
higher  than  all  these ;  and  it  so  chanced  that  I  had  ample 
time  to  observe  her,  for  when  I  entered  the  carriage  she  was 
asleep  —  asleep,"  said  he,  with  a  bitter  mockery  Macready 
might  have  envied.  "  Why  do  I  say  asleep?  No,  sir  !  —  she 
was  in  that  factitious  trance,  that  wiliest  device  of  Satan's 
own  creation,  a  woman's  sleep,  —  the  thing  invented,  sir, 
merely  to  throw  the  shadow  of  dark  lashes  on  a  marble 
cheek,  and  leave  beauty  to  sink  into  man's  heart  without 
molestation.  Sleep,  sir !  —  the  whole  mischief  the  world 
does  in  its  waking  moments  is  nothing  to  tlie  doings  of  such 
slumber!     If  she  did  not  sleep,   how  could   that  braid   of 


250  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

dark-brown  hair  fall  loosely  down  upon  her  blue-veined 
hand ;  if  she  did  not  sleep,  how  could  the  color  tinge  with 
such  evanescent  loveliness  the  cheek  it  scarcely  colored ;  if 
she  did  not  sleep,  how  could  her  lips  smile  with  the  sweet- 
ness of  some  passing  thought,  thus  half  recorded?  No,  sir; 
she  had  been  obliged  to  have  sat  bolt  upright,  with  her  gloves 
on  and  her  veil  down.  She  neither  could  have  shown  the 
delicious  roundness  of  her  throat  nor  the  statue-like  perfection 
of  her  instep.  But  sleep,  —  sleep  is  responsible  for  nothing. 
Oh,  why  did  not  Macbeth  murder  it,  as  he  said  he  had  ! 

''If  I  were  a  legislator,  sir,  I'd  prohibit  any  woman 
under  forty-three  from  sleeping  in  a  public  conveyance. 
It  is  downright  dangerous,  —  I  would  n't  say  it  ain't  im- 
moral. The  immovable  aspect  of  placid  beauty,  Mr. 
Tramp,  etherealizes  a  woman.  The  shrewd  housewife  be- 
comes a  houri ;  and  a  milliner  —  ay,  sir,  a  milliner  —  might 
be  a  Maid  of  Judah  under  such  circumstances !  " 

Mr.  Yellowley  seemed  to  have  run  himself  out  of  breath 
with  this  burst  of  enthusiasm  ;  for  he  was  unable  to  resume  his 
narrative  until  several  minutes  after,  when  he  proceeded  thus  : 
"The  fat  gentleman  and  myself  were  soon  engaged  in 
conversation.  He  was  hastening  down  to  bid  some  friends 
good-bye,  ere  they  sailed  for  India.  I  was  about  to  leave 
my  native  country,  too,  —  perhaps  forever. 

" '  Yes,  sir,'  said  I,  addressing  him,  '  Heaven  knows 
when  I  shall  behold  these  green  valleys  again,  if  ever.  I 
have  just  been  appointed  Secretary  and  Chief  Counsellor  to 
the  Political  Resident  at  the  court  of  the  Rajah  of  Santan- 
cantantarabad  !  —  a  most  important  post  —  three  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  forty-seven  miles  beyond  the  Himalaya.' 

"  And  here  —  with,  I  trust,  a  pardonable  pride  —  I  showed 
him  the  government  order  for  my  free  transit,  with  the 
various  directions  and  injunctions  concerning  my  personal 
comfort  and  safety. 

"  'Ah,'  said  the  old  gentleman,  putting  on  his  spectacles 
to  read,  —  'ah,  I  never  beheld  one  of  these  before.  Very 
curious, — very  curious,  indeed.  I  have  seen  a  sheriff's 
writ,  and  an  execution ;  but  this  is  far  more  remarkable,  — 
"Simon  Yellowley,  Esq.,  and  lady."  Eh  ?  — so  your  lady 
accompanies  you,  sir?' 


I 


FAST  ASLEEP  AND   WIDE   AWAKE.  251 

"  '  "Would  she  did,  —  would  to  Heaven  she  did  ! '  exclaimed 
I,  in  a  transport. 

"  '  Oh,  then,  she 's  afraid,  is  she?  She  dreads  the  blacks, 
I  suppose.' 

"'No,  sir;  I  am  not  married.  The  insertion  of  these 
words  was  a  mistake  of  the  official  who  made  out  my 
papers  ;  for,  alas  !  I  am  alone  in  the  world.' 

"'But  why  don't  you  marry,  sir?'  said  the  little  man, 
briskly,  and  with  an  eye  glistening  with  paternity.  '  Young 
ladies  ain't  scarce  — ' 

"  'True,  most  true;  but  even  supposing  I  were  fortunate 
enough  to  meet  the  object  of  my  wishes,  I  have  no  time.  I 
received  this  appointment  last  evening ;  to-day  I  am  here, 
to-morrow  I  shall  be  on  the  billows  ! ' 

"  'Ah,  that's  unfortunate,  indeed,  — very  unfortunate.' 

"  '  Had  I  but  one  week,  —  a  day,  —  ay,  an  hour,  sir.'  said 
I,  '  I  'd  make  an  offer  of  my  brilliant  position  to  some  lovely 
creature  who,  tired  of  the  dreary  North  and  its  gloomy  skies, 
would  prefer  the  unclouded  heaven  of  the  Himalaya  and  the 
perfumed  breezes  of  the  valley  of  Santancantantarabad ! ' 

"A  lightly  breathed  sigh  fell  from  the  sleeping  beauty, 
and  at  the  same  time  a  smile  of  inexpressible  sweetness 
played  upon  her  lips ;  but,  like  the  ripple  upon  a  glassy 
stream,  that  disappearing  left  all  placid  and  motionless 
again,  the  fair  features  were  in  a  moment  calm  as  before. 

"  '  She  looks  delicate,'  whispered  my  companion. 

"'Our  detestable  climate!'  said  I,  bitterly;  for  she 
coughed  twice  at  the  instant.  '  Oh,  why  are  the  loveliest 
flowers  the  offspring  of  the  deadliest  soil ! ' 

"  She  awoke,  not  suddenly  or  abruptly,  but  as  Venus 
might  have  risen  from  the  sparkling  sea  and  thrown  the 
dew-drops  from  her  hair,  and  then  she  opened  her  eyes. 
Mr.  Tramp,  do  you  under.stand  eyes?" 

"  I  can't  say  I  have  any  skill  that  way,  to  speak  of." 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  it,  —  deeply,  sincerely  sorry  ;  for  to  the 
uninitiated  these  things  seem  naught.  It  would  be  as  un- 
profitable to  put  a  Rembrandt  before  a  blind  man  as  dis- 
cuss the  aesthetics  of  eyelashes  with  the  unbeliever.  But 
you  will  understand  me  when  I  say  that  her  eyes  were  blue, 
—  blue  as  the   Adriatic!  —  not  the  glassy  doll's-eye   blue. 


262  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

that  shines  and  glistens  with  a  metallic  lustre  ;  nor  that  false 
depth,  more  gray  than  blue,  that  resembles  a  piece  of  tea- 
lead  ;  but  the  color  of  the  sea,  as  you  behold  it  Ave  fathoms 
down,  beside  the  steep  rocks  of  Genoa !  And  what  an  ocean 
is  a  woman's  eye,  with  bright  thoughts  floating  through  it,  and 
love  lurking  at  the  bottom  !     Am  I  tedious,  Mr.  Tramp?  " 

"  No ;  far  from  it,  —  only  very  poetical." 

"Ah,  I  was  once,"  said  Mr.  Yellowley,  with  a  deep  sigh. 
"  I  used  to  write  sweet  things  for  '  The  New  Monthly ; '  but 
Campbell  was  very  jealous  of  me, — couldn't  abide  me. 
Poor  Campbell !  he  had  his  failings,  like  the  rest  of  us. 

"  Well,  sir,  to  resume.  We  arrived  at  Southampton,  but 
only  in  time  to  hasten  down  to  the  pier,  and  take  boat  for 
the  ship.  The  blue-peter  was  flying  at  the  mast-head,  and 
people  hurrying  away  to  say  '  good-bye '  for  the  last  time. 
I,  sir,  I  alone  had  no  farewells  to  take.  Simon  Yellowley 
was  leaving  his  native  soil,  unwept  and  unregretted !  Sad 
thoughts  these,  Mr.  Tramp,  —  very  sad  thoughts.  Well, 
sir,  we  were  aboard  at  last,  above  a  hundred  of  us,  standing 
amid  the  lumber  of  our  carpet-bags,  dressing-cases,  and  hat- 
boxes,  half  blinded  by  the  heavy  spray  of  the  condensed 
steam,  and  all  deafened  by  the  din. 

' '  The  world  of  a  great  packet-ship,  Mr.  Tramp,  is  a  very 
selfish  world,  and  not  a  bad  epitome  of  its  relative  on  shore. 
Human  weaknesses  are  so  hemmed  in  by  circumstances,  the 
frailties  that  would  have  been  dissipated  in  a  wider  space 
are  so  concentrated  by  compression,  that  middling  people 
grow  bad,  and  the  bad  become  regular  demons.  There  is, 
therefore,  no  such  miserable  den  of  selfish  and  egotistical 
caballing,  slander,  gossip,  and  all  malevolence,  as  one  of 
these.  Envy  of  the  man  with  a  large  berth,  —  sneers  for 
the  lady  that  whispered  to  the  captain,  —  guesses  as  to  the 
rank  and  station  of  every  passenger,  indulged  in  with  a  spirit 
of  impertinence  absolutely  intolerable,  —  and  petty  exclu- 
siveness  practised  by  every  four  or  five  on  board,  against 
some  others  who  have  fewer  servants  or  less  luggage  than 
their  neighbors.  Into  this  human  bee-hive  was  I  now  plunged, 
to  be  bored  by  the  drones,  stung  by  the  wasps,  and  mad- 
dened by  all.  '  No  matter,'  thought  I,  '  Simon  Yellowley  has 
a  great  mission  to  fulfil.'    Yes,  Mr.  Tramp,  I  remembered  the 


FAST  ASLEEP   AND   WIDE   AWAKE.  253 

precarious  position  of  our  Eastern  possessions,  —  I  bethought 
me  of  the  incalculable  services  the  ability  of  even  a  Yellow- 
ley  might  render  his  country  in  the  far-off  valley  of  the 
Himalaya,  and  I  sat  down  on  my  portmanteau,  a  happier  — 
nay,  I  will  say.  a  better  man. 

"The  accidents  —  we  call  them  such  ever}'  day  —  the 
accidents  which  fashion  our  lives,  are  always  of  our  own 
devising,  if  we  only  were  to  take  trouble  enough  to  trace 
them.  I  have  a  theory  on  this  head,  but  1  'm  keeping  it 
over  for  a  kind  of  a  Bridgewater  Treatise.  It  is  enough 
now  to  remark  that  though  my  number  at  the  dinner-table 
was  84,  I  exchanged  with  another  gentleman,  who  couldn't 
bear  a  draught,  for  a  place  near  the  door,  No.  122.  Ah, 
me !  little  knew  I  then  what  that  simple  act  was  to  bring 
with  it.  Bear  in  mind,  Mr.  Tramp,  122;  for,  as  you  may 
remember,  Saucho  Panza's  story  of  the  goatherd  stopped 
short,  when  his  master  forgot  the  number  of  the  goats ; 
and  that  great  French  novelist,  M.  de  Balzac,  always 
hangs  the  interest  of  his  tale  on  some  sum  in  arithmetic, 
in  which  his  hero's  fortune  is  concerned :  so  my  story 
bears  upon  this  number.  Yes,  sir,  the  adjoining  seat,  No. 
123.  was  vacant.  There  was  a  cover  and  a  napkin,  and 
there  was  a  chair  placed  leaning  against  the  table,  to 
mark  it  out  as  the  property  of  some  one  absent ;  and  day  by 
day  was  that  vacant  place  the  object  of  my  conjectures. 
It  was  natural  this  should  be  the  case.  My  left-hand 
neighbor  was  the  first  mate,  one  of  those  sea  animals 
most  detestable  to  a  landsman.  He  had  a  sea  appe- 
tite, a  sea  voice,  sea  jokes,  and,  worst  of  all,  a  sea 
laugh.  I  shall  never  forget  that  fellow.  I  never  spoke 
to  him  that  he  did  not  reply  in  some  slang  of  his  abomi- 
nable profession ;  and  all  the  disagreeables  of  a  floating 
existence  were  increased  ten-fold  by  the  everlasting  refer- 
ence to  the  hated  theme,  —  a  ship.  What  he  on  the 
right  hand  might  prove,  was  therefore  of  some  moment 
to  me.  Another  Coup  de  Mer  like  this  would  be  un- 
endurable. The  crossest  old  maid,  the  testiest  old  bach- 
elor, the  most  peppery  nabob,  the  flattest  ensign,  the 
most  boring  of  tourists,  the  most  careful  of  mothers, 
would  be  a  boon   from  heaven  in  comparison  with  a  blue- 


254  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

jacket.  Alas !  Mr.  Tramp,  I  was  left  very  long  to  specu- 
late on  this  subject.  We  were  buffeted  clown  the  Channel, 
•we  were  tossed  along  the  coast  of  France,  and  blown 
about  the  Ba}' of  Biscay  before  123  ever  turned  up;  when 
one  day  —  it  was  a  deliciously  calm  day  (I  shall  not  forget 
it  soon)  —  we  even  could  see  the  coast  of  Portugal,  with  its 
great  mountains  above  Cintra.  Over  a  long  reach  of  sea, 
glassy  as  a  mirror,  the  great  ship  clove  her  way,  —  the  long 
foam-track  in  her  wake,  the  only  stain  on  that  blue  surface. 
Every  one  was  on  deck  :  the  old  asthmatic  gentleman,  whose 
cough  was  the  curse  of  the  after-cabin,  sat  with  a  boa  round 
his  neck,  and  thought  he  enjoyed  himself.  Ladies  in  twos 
and  threes  walked  up  and  down  together,  chatting  as  pleas- 
antly as  though  in  Kensington  Gardens.  The  tourist  sent 
out  by  Mr.  Colburn  was  taking  notes  of  the  whole  party, 
and  the  four  officers  in  the  Bengal  Light  Horse  had  adjourned 
their  daily  brandy  and  water  to  a  little  awning  beside  the 
wheel.  There  were  sketch-books  and  embroider3^-frames 
and  journals  on  all  sides  ;  there  was  even  a  guitar,  with  a 
blue  ribbon  round  it ;  and  amid  all  these  reraindiugs  of  shore 
life,  a  fat  poodle  waddled  about,  and  snarled  at  every  one. 
The  calm,  sir,  was  a  kind  of  doomsda}',  which  evoked  the 
dead  from  their  tombs  ;  and  up  they  came  from  indescrib- 
able corners  and  nooks,  opening  their  eyes  with  amazement 
upon  the  strange  world  before  them,  and  some  almost 
feeling  that  even  the  ordeal  of  sea-sickness  was  not  too 
heavy  a  penalty  for  an  hour  so  bright,  though  so  fleeting, 

"  '  "Which  is  123?'  thought  I,  as  I  elbowed  my  way  along 
the  crowded  quarter-deck,  now  asking  mj'self  could  it  be 
the  thin  gentleman  with  the  two  capes,  or  the  fat  lady 
with  the  three  chins  ?  But  there  is  a  prescience  which  never 
fails  in  the  greater  moments  of  our  destiny,  and  this  told 
me  it  was  none  of  these.  "We  went  down  to  dinner,  and 
for  the  first  time  the  chair  was  not  placed  against  the 
table,  but  so  as  to  permit  a  person  to  be  seated  on  it. 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,'  said  the  steward  to  me,  '  could 
you  move  a  little  this  way?  123  is  coming  in  to  dinner,  and 
she  would  like  to  have  the  air  of  the  doorway.' 

"  'She  would.'  thought  I;  'oh,  so  this  is  a  she,  at  all 
events ; '    and    scarce    was    the    reflection    made,    when    the 


FAST  ASLEEP  AND   WIDE   AWAKE.  255 

rustle  of  a  silk  dress  was  heard  brushing  my  chair.  I 
turned,  and  what  do  you  think,  Mr.  Tramp?  —  shall  I  en- 
deavor to  describe  my  emotions  to  you  ?  " 

This  was  said  in  a  tone  so  completely  questioning  that  I 
saw  Mr.  Yellowley  waited  for  my  answer. 

"I  am  afraid,  sir,"  said  I,  looking  at  my  watch,  "if  the 
emotions  you  speak  of  will  occupy  much  time,  we  had  better 
skip  them,  for  it  only  wants  a  quarter  to  twelve." 

"We  will  omit  them,  then,  Mr.  Tramp;  for,  as  you 
justly  observe,  they  would  require  both  time  and  space. 
Well,  sir,  to  be  brief,  123  was  the  angel  of  the  railroad." 

"  The  lady  you  met  at — " 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  you  prefer  to  call  her  the  lady  ;  for  I  shall 
persist  in  my  previous  designation.  Oh,  Mr.  Tramp,  that 
was  the  great  moment  of  my  life.  You  may  have  remarked 
that  we  pass  from  era  to  era  of  our  existence,  as  though  it 
were  from  one  chamber  to  another.  The  gay,  the  sparkling, 
and  the  brilliant  succeed  to  the  dark  and  gloomy  apartment, 
scarce  illumined  by  a  ray  of  hope,  and  we  move  on  in  our 
life's  journey,  with  new  objects  suggesting  new  actions,  and 
the  actions  engendering  new  frames  of  thought,  and  we  think 
ourselves  wiser  as  our  vicissitudes  grow  thicker ;  but  I  must 
not  continue  this  theme.  .  To  me,  this  moment  was  the 
greatest  transition  of  my  life.  Here  was  the  ideal  before 
me,  which  neither  art  had  pictured,  nor  genius  described,  — 
the  loveliest  creature  I  ever  beheld.  She  turned  round  on 
taking  her  place,  and  with  a  slight  gesture  of  surprise  recog- 
nized me  at  once  as  her  former  fellow-traveller.  I  have  had 
proud  moments  in  my  life,  Mr.  Tramp.  I  shall  never  forget 
how  the  Commander  of  the  Forces  at  Boulahcush  said  to 
me  in  full  audience,  in  the  presence  of  all  the  officials,  — 

' '  '  Yellowley,  this  is  devilish  hot,  —  hotter  dian  we  have  it 
in  Europe.' 

"  But  here  was  a  prouder  moment  still:  that  little  grace- 
ful movement  of  recognition,  that  smile  so  transient  as  to  be 
scarce  detected,  sent  a  thrill  of  happiness  all  through  me. 
In  former  days,  by  doughty  deeds  and  hazardous  exploits 
men  won  their  way  to  women's  hearts ;  our  services  in  the 
present  time  have  the  advantage  of  being  less  hazardous ; 
little  attentions  of  the  table,  passing  the  salt,  calling  for  the 


256  TALES   OF   THE   TRAINS. 

pepper,  lifting  a  napkin,  and  inviting  to  wine,  are  the  sub- 
stitutes for  mutilating  giants  and  spitting  dragons.  I  can't 
say  but  I  think  the  exchange  is  with  the  difference. 

'*  The  first  day  passed  over  with  scarce  the  interchange  of 
a  word  between  us.  She  arose  almost  immediately  after 
dinner,  and  did  not  make  her  appearance  during  the  remain- 
der of  the  evening.  The  following  morning  she  took  her 
place  at  the  breakfast-table,  and  to  my  inexpressible  delight, 
as  the  weather  still  remained  calm,  ascended  to  the  quarter- 
deck when  the  meal  was  over.  The  smile  with  which  she 
met  me  now  had  assumed  the  token  of  acquaintance,  and  a 
very  little  address  was  necessary,  on  my  part,  to  enable  me 
to  join  her  as  she  walked,  and  engage  her  in  conversation. 
The  fact  of  being  so  young  and  so  perfectlj^  alone  —  for 
except  her  French  maid,  she  did  not  appear  to  know  a  single 
person  on  board  —  perhaps  appeared  to  demand  some  expla- 
nation on  her  part,  even  to  a  perfect  stranger  like  myself; 
for,  after  some  passing  observations  on  the  scenery  of  the 
coast  and  the  beauty  of  the  weather,  she  told  me  that  she 
looked  forward  with  much  hope  to  the  benefit  her  health 
might  derive  from  a  warmer  air  and  less  trying  climate  than 
that  of  England. 

"  '  I  already  feel  benefited  by  the  sweet  South,'  said  she; 
and  there  was  a  smile  of  gratitude  on  her  lip,  as  she  spoke 
the  words.  Some  little  farther  explanation  she  may  have 
deemed  necessary  ;  for  she  took  the  occasion  soon  after  to 
remark  that  her  only  brother  would  have  been  delighted 
with  the  voyage,  if  he  could  have  obtained  leave  of  absence 
from  his  regiment ;  but,  unfortunately,  he  was  in  '  the 
Blues,'  quartered  at  Windsor,  and  could  not  be  spared. 

' '  '  Poor  dear  creature  !  '  said  I ;  '  and  so  she  has  been 
obliged  to  travel  thus  alone,  reared  doubtless  within  the  pre- 
cincts of  some  happy  home,  from  which  the  world,  with  its 
petty  snares  and  selfishness,  wei-e  excluded,  surrounded  by 
all  the  appliances  of  luxury,  and  the  elegances  that  embellish 
existence  —  and  now,  to  venture  thus  upon  a  journey  without 
a  friend,  or  even  a  companion.' 

' '  There  could  scarcely  be  a  more  touching  incident  than  to 
see  one  like  her,  so  beautiful  and  so  young,  in  the  midst  of 
that  busy  little  world  of  soldiers  and  sailors  and  merchants. 


FAST   ASLEEP   AND   WIDE   AWAKE.  257 

travellers  to  the  uttermost  bounds  of  the  earth,  and  wearied 
spirits  seeking  for  change  wherever  it  might  be  found.  Had 
I  not  myself  been  alone,  a  very  '  waif '  upon  the  shores  of 
life,  I  should  have  felt  attracted  by  the  interest  of  her 
isolation ;  now  there  was  a  sympathy  to  attach  us,  —  there 
was  that  similarity  of  position  —  that  idem  nolle,  et  idem 
velle — which,  we  are  told,  constitutes  true  friendship.  She 
seemed  to  arrive  at  this  conclusion  exactly  as  I  did  myself, 
and  received  with  the  most  captivating  frankness  all  the  little 
attentions  it  was  in  my  power  to  bestow ;  and  in  fact  to 
regard  me,  in  some  sort,  as  her  companion.  Thus,  we  walked 
the  deck  each  morning  it  was  fine,  or,  if  stormy,  played  at 
chess  or  piquet  in  the  cabin.  Sometimes  she  worked  while  I 
read  aloud  for  her ;  and  such  a  treat  as  it  was  to  hear  her 
criticisms  on  the  volume  before  us,  —  how  just  and  true  her 
appreciation  of  sound  and  correct  principles,  —  how  skilful 
the  distinctions  she  would  make  between  the  false  glitter  of 
tinsel  sentiment  and  the  dull  gold  of  real  and  sterling  moral- 
ity !  Her  mind,  naturally  a  gifted  one,  had  received  every 
aid  education  could  bestow.  French  and  Italian  literature 
were  as  familiar  to  her  as  was  English,  while  in  mere  accom- 
plishments she  far  excelled  those  who  habitually  make  such 
acquirements  the  grand  business  of  early  life. 

"You  are,  I  presume,  a  man  of  the  world,  Mr.  Tramp. 
You  may,  perhaps,  deem  it  strange  that  several  days  rolled 
over  before  I  ever  even  thought  of  inquiring  her  name  ;  but 
such  was  the  case.  It  no  more  entered  into  my  conception 
to  ask  after  it,  than  I  should  have  dreamed  of  what  might  be 
the  botanical  designation  of  some  lovely  flower  by  whose 
beauty  and  fragrance  I  was  captivated.  Enough  for  me 
that  the  bright  petals  were  tipped  with  azure  and  gold,  and 
the  fair  stem  was  graceful  in  its  slender  elegance.  I  cared 
not  where  .Jussieu  might  have  arranged  or  Linna?us  classed 
it.  But  a  chance  revealed  the  matter  even  before  it  had 
occurred  to  me  to  think  of  it.  A  volume  of  Shelley's  poems 
contained  on  the  titlepage,  written  in  a  hand  of  singular 
delicacy,  the  words,  '  Lady  Blanche  D'Esmonde.'  Whether 
the  noble  family  she  belonged  to  were  English,  Irish,  or 
Scotch,  I  could  not  even  guess.  It  were  as  well,  Mv. 
Tramp,  that  I  could  not  do  so.     I  should  only  have  felt  a 

VOL.  II. — 17 


258  TALES   OF   THE  TRAINS. 

more  unwarrantable  attachment  for  that  portion  of  the 
empire  she  came  from.  Yes,  sir,  I  loved  her.  I  loved  her 
with  au  ardor  that  the  Yellowleys  have  been  remarkable  for, 
during  three  hundred  and  eighty  years.  It  was  my  ancestor, 
Mr.  Tramp,  —  Paul  Yellowley,  —  who  was  put  in  the  stocks 
at  Charing  Cross,  for  persecuting  a  maid  of  honor  at  Eliza- 
beth's court.  That  haughty  Queen  and  cold-hearted  woman 
had  the  base  inscription  written  above  his  head,  '  The 
penaltie  of  a  low  scullion  who  lifteth  his  eyes  too  loftilie.' 

"  To  proceed.  When  we  reached  Gibraltar,  Lady  Blanche 
and  I  visited  the  rocks,  and  went  over  the  bomb-proofs  and 
the  casemates  together,  —  far  more  dangerous  places  those 
little  cells  and  dark  passages  to  a  man  like  me,  than  ever 
they  could  become  in  the  hottest  fury  of  a  siege.  She  took 
Buch  an  interest  in  everything.  There  was  not  a  mortar 
nor  a  piece  of  ordnance  she  could  afford  to  miss ;  and  she 
would  peep  out  from  the  embrasures,  and  look  down  upon 
the  harbor  and  the  bay,  with  a  fearlessness  that  left  me 
puzzled  to  think  whether  I  were  more  terrified  by  her 
intrepidity  or  charmed  by  the  beauty  of  her  instep.  Again 
we  went  to  sea ;  but  how  I  trembled  at  each  sight  of  land, 
lest  she  should  leave  the  ship  forever !  At  last,  Malta  came 
in  view ;  and  the  same  evening  the  boats  were  lowered,  for 
all  had  a  desire  to  go  ashore.  Of  course  Lady  Blanche  was 
most  anxious ;  her  health  had  latterly  improved  greatly,  and 
she  was  able  to  incur  considerable  fatigue,  without  feeling 
the  worse  afterwards. 

"It  was  a  calm,  mellow  evening,  with  an  already  risen 
moon,  as  we  landed  to  wander  about  the  narrow  streets  and 
bastioned  dwellings  of  old  Valletta.  She  took  my  arm, 
and,  followed  by  Mademoiselle  Virginie,  we  went  on  explor- 
ing every  strange  and  curious  spot  before  us,  and  calling  up 
before  our  mind's  eye  the  ancient  glories  of  the  place.  I 
was  rather  strong  in  all  these  sort  of  things,  Mr.  Tramp ;  for 
in  expectation  of  this  little  visit,  I  made  myself  up  about 
the  Knights  of  St.  John  and  the  Moslems,  Fort  St.  Elmo, 
Civita  Vecchia,  rocks,  catacombs,  prickly  pears,  and  all. 
In  fact,  I  was  primed  with  the  whole  catalogue,  which, 
written  down  in  short  memoranda,  forms  Chap.  I.  in  a 
modern  tour-book  of  the  Mediterranean.     The  season  was 


FAST  ASLEEP  AND  WIDE  AWAKE.  259 

SO  genial,  and  the  moon  so  bright,  that  we  lingered  till  past 
midnight,  and  then  returned  to  the  ship  the  last  of  all  the 
visitors.  That  was  indeed  a  night,  as,  flickered  by  the 
column  of  silver  light,  we  swept  over  the  calm  sea.  Lady 
Blanche,  wrapped  in  my  large  boat-cloak,  her  pale  features 
statue-like  in  their  unmoved  beauty,  sat  in  the  stern ;  I  sat 
at  her  side.  Neither  spoke  a  word.  What  lier  thoughts 
might  have  been  I  cannot  guess ;  but  the  little  French  maid 
looked  at  me  from  time  to  time  with  an  expression  of 
diabolical  intelligence  I  cannot  forget ;  and  as  I  handed  her 
mistress  up  the  gangway,  Virginie  said  in  a  whisper,  — 

"'Ah,  Monsieur  Yellowley,  vous  etes  un  liumme  dan- 
gereux  I ' 

"Would  you  believe  it,  Mr.  Tramp,  that  little  phrase 
filled  every  chamber  of  my  heart  with  hope ;  there  could 
be  but  one  interpretation  of  it,  and  what  a  meaning 
had  that,  —  dangerous  to  the  peace  of  mind,  to  the  heart's 
happiness  of  her  I  actually  adored !  I  lay  down  in  my 
berth  and  tried  to  sleep ;  but  the  nearest  approach  of  slumber 
was  a  dreamy  condition,  in  which  the  words  vous  etes  ten 
hojnme  dawjereux  kept  ever  ringing.  I  thought  I  saw 
Lady  Blanche  dressed  in  white,  with  a  veil  covering  her,  a 
chaplet  of  orange  flowers  on  her  brow,  and  weeping  as 
though  inconsolably ;  and  there  was  a  grim,  mischievous 
little  face  that  nodded  at  me  with  a  menacing  expression, 
as  though  to  say,  '  This  is  your  work,  Simon  Yellowley ; ' 
and  then  I  saw  her  lay  aside  the  veil  and  encircle  herself 
with  a  sad-colored  garment,  while  her  tears  fell  even  faster 
than  before ;  and  then  the  little  vixen  from  the  window 
exclaimed,  '  Here 's  more  of  it,  Simon  Yellowley.'  Lord, 
how  I  reproached  myself,  —  I  saw  I  was  bringing  her  to  the 
grave ;  yes,  sir,  there  is  no  concealing  it.  I  felt  she  loved 
me.  I  arose  and  put  on  my  dressing-gown ;  my  mind  was 
made  up.  I  slipped  noiselessly  up  the  cabin-stairs,  and  with 
much  difficulty  made  my  way  to  that  part  of  the  ship  in- 
habited by  the  servants.  I  will  not  recount  here  the  insolent 
allusions  I  encountered,  nor  the  rude  jests  and  jibes  of  the 
sailors  when  I  asked  for  Mademoiselle  Virginie  ;  nor  was  it 
without  trouble  and  considerable  delay  that  I  succeeded  in 
obtainincr  an  interview  with  her. 


260  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

*'' Mademoiselle,'  said  I,  'I  kuow  the  levity  of  your 
nation ;  uo  man  is  more  conscious  than  I  of  —  of  the  frailty 
of  your  moral  principles.  Don't  be  angry,  but  hear  me  out. 
You  said  a  few  minutes  ago  that  I  was  a  "  dangerous  man  ;  " 
tell  me  now,  sincerely,  truthfully,  and  candidly,'  —  here  I 
put  rather  a  heavy  purse  into  her  hands,  —  '  the  exact  mean- 
ing you  attached  to  these  words. ' 

"  '  Ah,  Monsieur,'  said  she,  with  a  stage  shudder,  '■je  suis 
une panrre fille^  ne  me perdez pas' 

"  I  looked  at  the  little  wizened  devil,  and  never  felt 
stronger  in  my  virtue. 

"  'Don't  be  afraid,  Virginie,  I'm  an  archbishop  in  prin- 
ciples ;  but  I  thought  that  when  you  said  these  words  they 
bore  an  allusion  to  another  — ' 

"  ''Ah  !  cest  f(?,'  said  she,  with  perfect  naivete, —  '  so  you 
are,  a  dangerous  man,  a  very  dangerous  man ;  so  much  so, 
indeed,  that  I  shall  use  all  my  influence  to  persuade  one,  of 
whom  you  are  aware,  to  escape  as  quickly  as  may  be  from 
the  hazard  of  your  fascinating  society.' 

"  I  repeat  these  words,  Mr.  Tramp,  which  may  appear  to 
you  now  too  flattering ;  but  the  French  language,  in  wliich 
Virginie  spoke,  permits  expressions  even  stronger  than  these, 
as  mere  conventionalities. 

"  '  Don't  do  it,'  said  I,  'don't  do  it,  Virginie.' 

"'I  must,  and  I  will,'  reiterated  she;  'there's  such  a 
change  in  my  poor  dear  Lady  Blanche  since  she  met  you ;  I 
never  knew  her  give  way  to  fits  of  laughing  before,  —  she 's 
so  capricious  and  whimsical,  — she  was  an  angel  formerly.' 

"  '  She  is  an  angel  still,'  said  I,  with  a  frown,  for  I  would 
not  suffer  so  much  of  aspersion  against  her. 

"  '  Sans  donte,'  chimed  in  Virginie,  with  a  shrug  of  her 
shoulders,  '  we  are  all  angels,  after  a  fashion ; '  and  I  en- 
deavored to  smile  a  concurrence  with  this  sentiment,  in 
which  I  only  half  assented. 

"By  wonderful  skill  and  cross-questioning,  I  at  last  ob- 
tained the  following  information  :  Lady  Blanche  was  on  a 
voyage  of  health,  intending  to  visit  the  remarkable  places 
in  the  Mediterranean,  and  then  winter  at  some  chosen  spot 
upon  its  shores.  Why  she  journeyed  thus  unprotected,  was 
a  secret  there  was  no  fathoming  by  indirect  inquiry,  and 
any  other  would  have  been  an  act  of  indelicacy. 


i 


FAST  ASLEEP  AND   WIDE   AWAKE.  261 

"  '  We  will  pass  the  winter  at  Naples,  or  Palermo,  or  Jeru- 
salem, or  some  other  watering-place,'  said  Virginie,  for  her 
geography  was,  after  all,  only  a  lady's-maid's  accomplishment. 

"  'You  must  persuade  her  to  visit  Egypt,  Virginia,'  said 
I,  —  '  Egypt,  Virginie, —  the  land  of  the  Pyramids.  Induce 
her  to  do  this,  and  to  behold  the  wonders  of  the  strangest 
country  in  the  universe.     Even  now,'  said  I,  '  Arab  life —  ' 

"  'Ah,  oui.  I  have  seen  the  Arabs  at  the  Vaudeville; 
they  have  magnificent  beards.' 

"  '  The  handsomest  men  in  the  world.' 

"  '■Pas  mal^'  said  she,  with  a  sententious  nod  there's  no 
converting  into  words. 

"  '  Well,  Virginie,  think  of  Cairo,  think  of  Bagdad.  You 
have  read  the  Arabian  Nights  —  have  n't  you? ' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  she,  with  a  yawn,  '  they  are  passees  ;  now, 
what  would  you  have  us  do  in  this  droll  old  place  ? ' 

"'I  would  have  you  to  visit  Mehemet  Ali,  and  be  re 
ceived  at  his  court ! '  —  for  I  saw  at  once  the  class  of 
fascination  she  would  yield  to.  '  Drink  sherbet,  eat  sweet- 
meats, receive  presents,  magnificent  presents,  cashmeres, 
diamond  bracelets.     Ah  !  think  of  that.' 

"'Ah!  there  is  something  in  what  you  say,' said  she, 
after  a  pause  ;  '  but  we  have  not  come  prepared  for  such  an 
expensive  journey.  I  am  purse-bearer,  for  Lady  Blanche 
knows  nothing  about  expense,  and  we  shall  not  receive  re- 
mittances until  we  settle  somewhere  for  the  winter.' 

"These  words  made  my  heart  leap;  in  five  minutes  more 
I  explained  to  Virginie  that  I  was  provided  with  a  free 
transit  through  the  East,  in  whicli,  by  her  aid,  her  mistress 
might  participate,  without  ever  knowing  it.  '  You  have  only 
to  pretend,  Virginie,  that  Egypt  is  so  cheap  ;  tell  her  a  camel 
only  costs  a  penny  a  league,  and  that  one  is  actually  paid  for 
crossing  the  Great  Desert ;  you  can  hint  that  old  Mehemet 
wants  to  bring  the  thing  into  fashion,  and  that  he  would  give 
his  beard  to  see  English  ladies  travelling  that  route.' 

"  '  I  knew  it  well,'  said  Virginie,  with  a  malicious  smile,  — 
*  I  knew  it  well ;  you  are  "  a  dangerous  man." ' 

"  All  the  obstacles  and  impediments  she  could  suggest, 
I  answered  with  much  skill  and  address,  not  unaided,  I  own, 
by  certain  potent  persuasives,  in  the  shape  of  bank  paper,  — 


262  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

she  was  a  most  mercenary  little  devil ;  and  as  day  was 
breaking,  Virginia  had  fully  agreed  in  all  my  plans,  and 
determined  that  her  mistress  should  go  beyond  '  the  second 
cataract,'  if  I  wished  it.  I  need  not  say  that  she  fully 
understood  my  motives ;  she  was  a  Frenchwoman,  Mr. 
Tramp ;  the  Russian  loves  train  oil,  the  Yankee  prefers 
whittling,  but  a  Frenchwoman,  without  an  intrigue  of  her 
own,  or  some  one's  else,  on  hand,  is  the  most  miserable 
object  in  existence. 

"  'I  see  where  it  all  will  end,'  cried  she,  as  I  turned  to 
leave  her ;  '  I  see  it  already.  Before  six  weeks  are  over, 
you  will  not  ask  my  aid  to  influence  my  misti-ess.' 

"'Do  you  think  so,  Virginie?'  said  I,  grasping  at  the 
suggestion. 

"  '  Of  course  I  do,'  said  she,  with  a  look  of  undisguised 
truth  ;   '  a/i,  que  voiis  etes  un  homme  dangereux  !  ' 

"It  is  a  strange  thing,  Mr.  Tramp,  but  I  felt  that  title 
a  prouder  one  than  if  I  had  been  called  the  Governor  of 
Bombay.  Varied  and  numerous  as  the  incidents  of  my  life 
had  been,  I  never  knew  till  then  that  I  was  a  dangerous 
man  ;  nor,  indeed,  do  I  believe  that,  in  the  previous  consti- 
tution of  my  mind,  I  should  have  relished  the  epithet ;  but 
I  hugged  it  now  as  the  symbol  of  my  happiness.  The  whole 
of  the  following  day  was  spent  by  me  in  company  with 
Lady  Blanche.  I  expatiated  on  the  glories  of  the  East,  and 
discussed  everybody  who  had  been  there,  from  Abraham 
down  to  Abercromby.  What  a  multiplicity  of  learning, 
sacred  and  profane,  did  I  not  pour  forth,  —  I  perfectly 
astounded  her  with  the  extent  of  my  information,  for,  as  I 
told  you  before,  I  was  strong  on  Egypt,  filling  up  every 
interstice  with  a  quotation  from  Byron,  or  a  bit  of  Lalla 
Rookh,  or  a  stray  verse  from  the  Palm  Leaves,  which  I 
invariably  introduced  as  a  little  thing  of  my  own  ;  then  I 
quoted  Herodotus,  Denon,  and  Lamartine,  without  end  — 
till  before  the  dinner  was  served,  I  had  given  her  such  a 
journey  in  mere  description,  that  she  said  with  a  sigh,  — 

"  '  Reall}',  Mr.  Yellowley,  you  have  been  so  eloquent  that 
I  actually  feel  as  much  fatigued  as  if  I  had  spent  a  day  on 
a  camel.' 

"  I  gave  her  a  grateful  look,  Mr.  Tramp,  and  she  smiled 


FAST  ASLEEP  AND   WIDE   AWAKE.  263 

in  return  ;  from  that  hour,  sir,  we  understood  each  other.  I 
pursued  my  Egyptian  studies  nearly  the  entire  of  that  night, 
and  the  next  day  came  on  deck,  with  four  chapters  of  Irby 
and  Mangles  off  by  heart.  My  head  swam  round  with  ideas 
of  things  Oriental,  —  patriarchs  and  pyramids,  Turks,  drago- 
mans, catacombs,  and  crocodiles,  danced  an  infernal  quad- 
rille in  my  excited  brain,  and  I  convulsed  the  whole  cabin  at 
breakfast,  by  replying  to  the  captain's  offer  of  some  tea, 
with  a  profound  salaam,  and  an  exclamation  of  '  Bish 
'millah,  allah  il  allah.'' 

"  '  You  have  infatuated  me  with  your  love  of  the  East, 
Mr.  Yellowley,'  said  Lady  Blanche,  one  morning,  as  she  met 
me.  '  I  have  been  thinking  over  poor  Princess  Shezarade 
and  Noureddin,  and  the  little  tailor  of  Bagdad,  and  the 
wicked  Cadi,  and  all  the  rest  of  them.' 

"  '  Have  I,'  cried  I,  joyfully ;   '  have  I  indeed ! ' 

** '  I  feel  I  must  see  the  Pyramids,'  said  she.  '  I  cannot 
resist  an  impulse  on  which  my  thoughts  are  concentrated, 
and  yours  be  all  the  blame  of  this  wilful  exploit.' 

"'Yes,'  said  I. 

" '  'T  is  hard  at  some  appointed  place 

To  check  your  course  and  turn  your  prow, 
And  objects  for  themselves  retrace 
You  past  with  added  hope  just  now.' 

** '  Yours,'  said  she,  smilingly. 

*' '  A  poor  thing,'  said  I,  '  I  did  for  one  of  the  Keepsakes.' 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Tramp,  it  is  very  hard  to  distinguish  one's  own 
little  verse  from  the  minor  poets.  All  my  life  I  have  been 
under  the  delusion  that  I  wrote  '  O'Connor's  Child,'  and  the 
'  Battle  of  the  Baltic ; '  and,  now  I  think  of  it,  those  lines 
are  Monckton  Milnes's. 

"  We  reached  Alexandria  a  few  days  after,  and  at  once 
joined  the  great  concourse  of  passengers  bound  for  the  East. 

"  I  perceive  you  are  looking  at  your  watch,  Mr.  Tramp." 

"  I  must  indeed  ask  your  pardon.  I  sail  for  Calais  at  the 
next  ebb." 

"  I  shall  not  be  tedious  now,  sir.  We  began  '  the  over- 
land,'—  the  angel  travelling  as  Lady  Blanche  Yellowley,  to 
avoid  any  possible  inquiry  or  impertinence  from  the  official 


264  TALES  OF  TUE  TRAINS. 

people.  This  was  arrauged  between  Virginie  and  myself, 
without  her  knowledge.  Then,  indeed,  began  my  Arabian 
nights.  Ah,  Mr.  Tramp,  you  never  can  know  the  happiness 
enjoyed  by  him  who,  travelling  for  fourteen  long  hours 
over  the  hot  sand,  and  beneath  the  scorching  sun  of  the 
desert,  comes  at  last  to  stretch  his  wearied  limbs  upon  his 
carpet  at  evening,  and  gazes  on  celestial  beauty  as  he  sips 
his  mocha.  Mahomet  had  a  strong  case,  depend  upon  it, 
when  he  furnished  his  paradise  with  a  houri  and  a  hubble- 
bubble  ;  and  such  nights  were  these,  as  we  sat  and  chatted 
over  the  once  glories  of  that  great  land,  while  in  the  lone 
klian  of  the  desert  would  be  heard  the  silvery  sounds  of  a 
fair  woman's  voice,  as  she  sung  some  little  barcarole,  or 
light  Venetian  canzonette.  Ah,  Mr.  Tramp,  do  you  wonder 
if  I  loved  —  do  you  wonder  if  I  confessed  my  love  ?  I  did 
both,  sir,  —  ay,  sir,  both. 

"  I  told  her  my  heart's  secret  in  an  impassioned  moment, 
and,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  ti'ue  affection,  explained  my 
position  and  my  passion. 

"  '  I  am  your  slave,'  said  I,  with  trembling  adoration,  — 
'•your  slave,  and  the  Secretary  at  Santancantantarabad. 
You  own  my  heart.  /  possess  nothing  but  a  Government 
situation  and  three  thousand  per  annum.  I  shall  never 
cease  to  love  you,  and  my  widow  must  have  a  pension  from 
the  Company.' 

"  She  covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief  as  I  spoke, 
and  her  sobs  —  they  must  have  been  sobs  —  actually  pene- 
trated my  bosom. 

"  '  You  must  speak  of  this  no  more,  dear  Mr.  Yellowley,* 
said  she,  wiping  her  eyes ;  '  you  really  must  not,  at  least 
until  I  arrive  at  Calcutta.' 

"  '  So  you  consent  to  go  that  far,'  cried  I,  in  ecstasy. 

"  She  seemed  somewhat  confused  at  her  own  confession, 
for  she  blushed  and  turned  away ;  then  said,  in  a  voice  of 
some  hesitation, — 

"  '  Will  you  compel  me  to  relinquish  the  charm  of  your  too 
agreeable  society,  or  will  you  make  me  the  promise  I  ask  ? ' 

"' Anything  — everything,'  exclaimed  I;  and  from  that 
hour,  Mr.  Tramp,  I  only  looked  my  love,  at  least,  save  when 
sighs   and  interjections  contributed   their  insignificant  aid» 


FAST  ASLEEP   AND   WIDE   AWAKE. 


265 


I  gave  no  expression  to  my  cousuming  flame.  Not  the  less 
progress,  perhaps,  did  I  make  for  that.  You  can  educate  a 
feature,  sir,  to  do  the  work  of  four,  —  I 
could  after  a  week  or  ten  days  look 
fifty  different  things,  and  she  knew 
them, —  ay,  that  she  did,  as  though 
it  were  a  book  open  before  her. 

"  I  could  have  strained  my  eyes 
to  see  through  the  canvas  of  a  tent, 
Mr.  Tramp,  if  she  were  inside  of  it. 
And  she,  had  you  but  seen  her  looks  ! 
what  archness  and  what  softness,  — 
how  piquant,  yet  bow  play- 
ful, —  what  witchcraft  and 
what   simplicity  !      I  must 
hasten  on.   We 
arrived 
within     a 


--3-^^^^^^^^ 


day   of   our   journey's  end.'    The  next  morning  showed  us 
the  tall  outline  of  Fort  William  against  the  sky.     The  hour 


266  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

was  approaching  in  which  I  might  declare  my  love,  and  de- 
clare it  with  some  hope  of  a  return !  " 

<'Mr.  Tramp,"  said  a  waiter,  hurriedly,  interrupting  Mr. 
Yellowley  at  this  crisis  of  his  tale,  "  Captain  Smithet,  of 
the  '  Hornet,'  says  he  has  the  steam  up  and  will  start  in  ten 
minutes." 

"Bless  my  heart,"  cried  I;  "  this  is  a  hasty  summons;" 
while  snatching  up  my  light  travelling  portmanteau,  I  threw 
my  cloak  over  my  shoulders  at  once. 

"  You'll  not  go  before  I  conclude  my  story,"  cried  Mr. 
Yellowley,  with  a  voice  of  indignant  displeasure. 

"I  regret  it  deeply,  sir,"  said  I,  "from  my  very  heart; 
but  I  am  the  bearer  of  government  despatches  for  Vienna ; 
they  are  of  the  greatest  consequence,  —  delay  would  be  a 
ruinous  matter." 

"I'll  go  down  with  you  to  the  quay,"  cried  Yellowley, 
seizing  my  arm  ;  and  we  turned  into  the  street  together.  It 
was  still  blowing  a  gale  of  wind,  and  a  heavy  sleet  was 
drifting  in  our  faces,  so  that  he  was  compelled  to  raise  his 
voice  to  a  shout,  to  become  audible. 

"  '  We  are  near  Calcutta,  dearest  Lady  Blanche,'  said  I ; 
'  in  a  moment  more  we  shall  be  no  longer  bound  by  your 
pledge'  —  do  you  hear  me,  Mr.  Tramp?" 

"  Perfectly;  but  let  us  push  along  faster." 

"  She  was  in  tears,  sir,  —  weeping.  She  is  mine,  thought 
I.  What  a  night,  to  be  sure!  We  drove  into  the  grand 
Cassawaddy ;  and  the  door  of  our  conveyance  was  wi'enched 
open  by  a  handsome-looking  fellow,  all  gold  and  mous- 
taches. 

"  '  Blanche  —  my  dearest  Blanche ! '  said  he. 

"  '  My  own  Charles  ! '  exclaimed  she." 

"  Her  brother,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Yellowley?" 

"  No,  sir,"  screamed  he,  "  her  husband ! ! !  " 

"  The  artful,  deceitful,  designing  woman  had  a  hus- 
band !  "  screamed  Yellowley,  above  the  storm  and  the 
hurricane.  "They  had  been  married  privately,  Mr.  Tramp, 
the  day  b«  sailed  for  India,  and  she  only  waited  for  the 
next  '  overland '  to  follow  him  out ;  and  I,  sir,  the  miserable 
dupe,  stood  there,  the  witness  of  their  joys. 

" '  Don't   forget   this   dear   old   creature,    Charles,'   said 


FAST  ASLEEP  AND   WIDE   AWAKE. 


267 


she :  '  he  was  iuvaluaV)le  to  me  on  the  journey ! '  But  I 
rushed  from  the  spot,  anguish-torn  and  almost  desperate." 

"Come  quickly,  sir;  we  must  catch  the  ebb-tide," 
cried  a  sailor,  pushing  me  along  towards  the  jetty  as  he 
spoke. 

"  My  misfortunes  were  rife,"  screamed  Yellowley,  in  my 
ear.  "The  Rajah  to  whose  court  I  was  appointed  had 
offended  Lord  EUenborough,  and  it  was  only  the  week  be- 
fore I  arrived  that  his  territory  had  been  added  to  '  British 
India,'  as  they  call  it,  and  the  late  ruler  accommodated  with 
private  apartments  in  Calcutta,  and  three  hundred  a  year 
for  life ;  so  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  come  home  again. 
Good-bye,  — good-bye,  sir." 

"  Go  on,"  cried  the  captain  from  the  paddle-box ;  and 
away  we  splashed,  in  a  manner  far  more  picturesque  to 
those  on  land  than  pleasant  to  us  on  board,  while  high 
above  the  howling  wind  and  rattling  cordage  came  Yellow- 
ley's  voice,  —  "Don't  forget  it,  Mr.  Tramp,  don't  forget  it! 
Asleep  or  awake,  never  trust  them  !  " 


Although  the  steam- 
engine  itself  is  more  natu- 
ralized amongst  us  than 
with  any  other  nation  of 
Europe,  railroad  travel- 
,  L-  ling  has  unquestionably 
«|4«7  outraged  more  of  the 
l/rT,  ^  associations  we  once 
cherished  and  were 
proud  of,  than  it 
could  possibly  effect 
in  countries  of  less  rural  and  picturesque  beauty  than 
England.  "La  Belle  France"  is  but  a  great  cornfield, — 
in  winter  a  dreary  waste  of  yellow  soil,  in  autumn  a 
desert  of  dried  stubble;    Belgium  is  only  a  huge  cabbage- 


THE   ROAD   VERSUS  THE   RAIL.  269 

garden,  —  flat  and  fetid;  Prussia,  a  sandy  plain,  dotted 
with  sentry-boxes.  To  traverse  these,  speed  is  the  grand 
requisite ;  there  is  little  to  remark,  less  to  admire.  The 
sole  object  is  to  push  forward ;  and  when  one  remembers 
the  lumbering  diligence  and  its  eight  buffaloes,  the  rail  is 
a  glorious  alternative. 

In  England,  however,  rural  scenery  is  eminently  character- 
ized. The  cottage  of  the  peasant  enshrined  in  honeysuckle, 
the  green  glade,  the  rich  and  swelling  champaign,  the  quaint 
old  avenues  leading  to  some  ancient  hall,  the  dark  glen, 
the  shining  river,  follow  each  other  in  endless  succession, 
suggesting  so  many  memories  of  our  people,  and  teeming 
with  such  information  of  their  habits,  tastes,  and  feelings. 
There  was  something  distinctive,  too,  in  that  well-appointed 
coach,  with  its  four  blood  bays,  tossing  their  heads  with  im- 
patience, as  they  stood  before  the  village  inn,  waiting  for 
the  passengers  to  breakfast.  I  loved  every  jingle  of  the 
brass  housings ;  the  flap  of  the  traces,  and  the  bang  of  the 
swingle-bar,  were  music  to  m}^  ears ;  and  what  a  character 
was  he  who  wrapped  his  great  drab  coat  around  his  legs, 
and  gathered  up  the  reins  with  that  careless  indolence  that 
seemed  to  say,  "The  beasts  have  no  need  of  guidance, — 
they  know  what  they  are  about ! "  The  very  leer  of  his 
merry  eye  to  the  buxom  figure  within  the  bar  was  a  novel 
in  three  volumes  ;  and  mark  how  lazily  he  takes  the  whip 
from  the  fellow  that  stands  on  the  wheel,  proud  of  such  a 
service;  and  hear  him,  as  he  cries,  "  All  right,  Bill,  let  'em 
go !  "  —  and  then  mark  the  graceful  curls  of  the  long  lash, 
as  it  plays  around  the  leaders'  flanks,  and  makes  the  skittish 
devils  bound  ere  they  are  touched.  And  now  we  go  career- 
ing along  the  mountain-side,  where  the  breeze  is  fresh  and 
the  air  bracing,  with  a  wide-spread  country  all  beneath  us, 
across  which  the  shadows  are  moving  like  waves.  Again, 
we  move  along  some  narrow  road,  overhung  with  trees,  rich 
in  perfumed  blossoms,  which  fall  in  showers  over  us  as  we 
pass ;  the  wheels  are  crushing  the  ripe  apples  as  they  lie 
uncared  for;  and  now  we  are  in  a  deep  glen,  dark  and 
shady,  where  only  a  straggling  sunbeam  comes ;  and  see, 
where  the  road  opens,  how  the  rabbits  play,  nor  are  scared 
at  our  approach  !     Ila,  merry  England  !  there  are  sights  and 


270  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

sounds  about  you  to  warm  a  man's  heart,  and  make  him 
think  of  home. 

It  was  but  a  few  days  since  I  was  seated  in  one  of  the 
cheap  carriages  of  a  southern  line,  when  this  theme  was 
brought  forcibly  to  my  mind  by  overhearing  a  dialogue  be- 
tween a  wagoner  and  his  wife.  The  man,  in  all  the  pride 
and  worldliness  of  his  nature,  would  see  but  the  advantages 
of  rapid  transit,  where  the  poor  woman  saw  many  a  change 
for  the  worse,  —  all  the  little  incidents  and  adventures  of  a 
pleasant  journey  being  now  superseded  by  the  clock-work 
precision  of  the  rail,  the  hissing  engine,  and  the  lumbering 
train. 

Long  after  they  had  left  the  carriage,  I  continued  to  dwell 
upon  the  words  they  had  spoken ;  and  as  I  fell  asleep,  they 
fashioned  themselves  into  rude  measure,  which  I  remembered 
on  awaking,  and  have  called  it  — 


THE  SOXG  OF  THE  THIRD-CLASS  TRAIN. 

WAGONER. 

Time  was  when  with  the  dreary  load 

We  slowly  journeyed  on, 
And  measured  every  mile  of  road 

Until  the  day  was  gone ; 
Along  the  worn  and  rutted  way, 

When  morn  was  but  a  gleam, 
And  with  the  last  faint  glimpse  of  day 

Still  went  the  dreary  team. 
But  no  more  now  to  earth  we  bow ! 

Our  insect  life  is  past ; 
With  furnace  gleam,  and  hissing  steam. 

Our  speed  is  like  the  blast. 


I  mind  it  well,  —  I  loved  it  too, 

Full  many  a  happy  hour, 
When  o'er  our  heads  the  blossoms  grew 

That  made  the  road  a  bower. 
With  song  of  birds,  and  pleasant  sound 

Of  voices  o'er  the  lea, 
And  perfume  rising  from  the  ground 

Fresh  turned  bv  labor  free. 


THE   ROAD   VERSUS  THE   RAIL.  271 

And  wheu  the  night,  star-lit  and  bright, 

Closed  in  on  all  around, 
Nestling  to  rest,  ujjon  my  breast 

My  boy  was  sleeping  sound. 
His  mouth  was  moved,  as  tho'  it  proved 

That  even  in  his  dream 
He  grasped  the  whip  —  his  tiny  lip 

Would  try  to  guide  the  team. 

Oh,  were  not  these  the  days  to  please  1 

Were  we  not  happy  so  1 
The  woman  said.     He  hung  his  head, 

And  still  he  muttered  low  . 
"  But  no  more  now  to  earth  we  bow, 

Our  iusect  life  is  past ; 
With  furnace  gleam,  and  hissing  steam. 

Our  speed  is  like  the  blast." 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  hundred  pounds  to  argue  the  question 
on  either  side,"  as  Lord  Plunkett  said  of  a  Chancery  case ; 
for  if  we  have  lost  much  of  the  romance  of  the  road,  as  it 
once  existed,  we  have  certainly  gained  something  in  the 
strange  and  curious  views  of  life  presented  by  railroad  trav- 
elling ;  and  although  there  was  more  of  poetry  in  the  pas- 
toral, the  broad  comedy  of  a  journey  is  always  amusing. 
The  caliph  who  once  sat  on  the  bridge  of  Bagdad,  to  observe 
mankind,  and  choose  his  dinner-party  from  the  passers-by, 
would  unquestionably  have  enjoyed  a  far  wider  scope  for  his 
investigation,  had  he  lived  in  our  day,  and  taken  out  a  sub- 
scription ticket  for  the  Great  Western  or  the  Grand  Junction. 
A  peep  into  the  several  carriages  of  a  train  is  like  obtaining 
a  section  of  society ;  for,  like  the  view  of  a  house,  when 
the  front  wall  is  removed,  we  can  see  the  whole  economy 
of  the  dwelling,  from  the  kitchen  to  the  garret ;  and  while 
the  grand  leveller,  steam,  is  tugging  all  the  same  road,  at 
the  same  pace,  subjecting  the  peer  to  every  shock  it  gives 
the  peasant,  individual  peculiarities  and  class  observances 
relieve  the  uniformity  of  the  scene,  and  aflford  ample  oppor- 
tunity for  him  who  would  read  while  he  runs.  Short  of 
royalty,  there  is  no  one  nowadays  may  not  be  met  with 
"'  on  the  rail ;  "  and  from  the  Duke  to  Daniel  O'Connell  —  a 
pretty  long  interval  —  your  vis-a-vis  may  be  any  illustrious 
character  in  politics,  literature,  or  art.     I  intend,  in  some  of 


272  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

these  tales,  to  make  mention  of  some  of  the  most  interesting 
characters  it  has  been  my  fortune  to  encounter ;  meanwhile 
let  me  make  a  note  of  the  most  singular  railroad  traveller  of 
whom  I  have  ever  heard,  and  to  the  knowledge  of  whom 
I  accidentally  came  when  travelling  abroad.  The  sketch  I 
shall  call  — 

THE   EARLY   TRAIN   TO   VERSAILLES. 

"Droll  people  one  meets  travelling, — strange  charac- 
ters !  "  was  the  exclamation  of  my  next  neighbor  in  the  Ver- 
sailles train,  as  an  oddly  attired  figure,  with  an  enormous 
beard,  and  a  tall  Polish  cap,  got  out  at  Sevres ;  and  this,  of 
all  the  railroads  in  Europe,  perhaps,  presents  the  most  motley 
array  of  travellers.  The  "  niilitaire,"  the  shopkeeper,  the 
actor  of  a  minor  theatre,  the  economist  Englishman  resid- 
ing at  Versailles  for  cheapness,  the  "  modiste,"  the  news- 
paper writer,  are  all  to  be  met  with,  hastening  to  and  from 
this  favorite  resort  of  the  Parisians ;  and  among  a  people  so 
communicative,  and  so  well  disposed  to  social  intercourse,  it 
is  rare  that  even  in  this  short  journey  the  conversation  does 
not  take  a  character  of  amusement,  if  not  of  actual  interest. 

"  The  last  time  I  went  down  in  this  train  it  was  in  com- 
pany with  M.  Thiers ;  and,  I  assure  you,  no  one  could  be 
more  agreeable  and  affable,"  said  one. 

"  Horace  Vernet  was  my  companion  last  week,"  remarked 
another;  "indeed  I  never  guessed  who  it  was,  until  a 
chance  observation  of  mine  about  one  of  his  own  pictures, 
when  he  avowed  his  name." 

"  I  had  a  more  singular  travelling-companion  still," 
exclaimed  a  third;  "no  less  a  personage  than  Aboul 
Djerick,  the  Arab  chief,  whom  the  Marshal  Bugeaud  took 
prisoner." 

"  il/a  foi!  gentlemen,"  said  a  dry  old  lady  from  the 
corner  of  the  carriage,  "  these  were  not  very  remarkable 
characters,  after  all.  I  remember  coming  down  here  with  — 
what  do  you  think?  —  for  my  fellow-traveller.  Only  guess. 
But  it  is  no  use ;  you  would  never  hit  upon  it,  —  he  was  a 
baboon !  " 

"  A  baboon  !  "  exclaimed  all  the  party,  in  a  breath. 


THE  ROAD  VERSUS  THE  RAIL.  273 

"  Sacrehleu  !     Madame,  you  must  be  jestiug." 

"No,  gentlemen,  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  was  a  tall 
fellow,  as  big  as  M.  le  Capitaine  yonder ;  and  he  had  a  tail 
—  iiiou  Dieu  !  what  a  tail !  When  the  conductor  showed  him 
into  the  carriage,  it  took  nearly  a  minute  to  adjust  that  enor- 
mous tail." 

A  very  general  roar  of  laughter  met  this  speech,  excited 
probably  more  by  the  serious  manner  of  the  old  lady  as  she 
mentioned  this  occurrence  than  by  anything  even  in  the 
event  itself,  though  all  were  unquestionably  astonished  to 
account  for  the  incident. 

"  Was  he  quiet,  Madame?  "  said  one  of  the  passengers. 

"  Perfectly  so,"  replied  she,  —  "  blen  jioU." 

Another  little  outbreak  of  laughter  at  so  singular  a  phrase, 
with  reference  to  the  manners  of  an  ape,  disturbed  the 
party. 

"He  had  probably  made  his  escape  from  the  Jardin  des 
Plantes,"  cried  a  thin  old  gentleman  opposite. 

'•  No,  Monsieur;  he  lived  in  the  Rue  St.  Denis." 

'■'•  Diable!"  exclaimed  a  lieutenant;  "he  was  a  good 
citizen  of  Paris.    Was  he  in  the  Garde  Nationale,  Madame  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  a  most  provoking 
coolness. 

"  And  where  was  he  going,  may  I  ask?  "  cried  another. 

"To  Versailles,  Monsieur,  —  poor  fellow,  he  wept  very 
bitterly." 

"  Detestable  beast !  "  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman  ;  "  they 
make  a  horrid  mockery  of  humanity." 

"  Ah  !  very  true,  Monsieur;  there  is  a  strong  resemblance 
between  the  two  species."  There  was  an  unlucky  applica- 
bility in  this  speech  to  the  hook-nose,  yellow-skinned, 
wrinkled  little  fellow  it  was  addressed  to,  that  once  more 
brought  a  smile  upon  the  party, 

"  Was  there  no  one  with  him,  then?  Who  took  care  of 
him,  Madame?" 

"  He  was  alone,  Monsieur.  The  poor  fellow  was  a 
*  garcon ; '  he  told  me  so  himself." 

' '  Told  you  so !  —  the  ape  told  you !  —  the  baboon  said 
that !  "  exclaimed  each  in  turn  of  the  party,  while  an  out- 
burst of  laughter  filled  the  carriage. 

VOL.    II.  — 18 


274  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

"  'Tis  quite  true,  — just  as  I  have  the  honor  to  tell  you," 
said  the  old  lady,  with  the  utmost  gravity;  "and  although 
I  was  as  much  surprised  as  you  now  are,  when  he  first 
addressed  me,  he  was  so  well-mannered,  spoke  such  good 
French,  and  had  so  much  agreeability  that  I  forgot  my 
fears,  and  enjoyed  his  society  very  much." 

It  was  not  without  a  great  effort  that  the  party  controlled 
themselves  sufficiently  to  hear  the  old  lady's  explanation. 
The  very  truthfulness  of  her  voice  and  accent  added  inde- 
scribably to  the  absurdity ;  for  while  she  designated  her 
singular  companion  always  as  M.  le  Singe,  she  spoke  of 
him  as  if  he  had  been  a  naturalized  Frenchman,  born  to 
enjoy  all  the  inestimable  privileges  of  "La  Belle  France." 
Her  story  was  this  —  but  it  is  better,  as  far  as  may  be,  to 
give  it  in  her  own  words :  — 

"  My  husband,  gentlemen,  is  greffier  of  the  Correctional 
Court  of  Paris ;  and  although  obliged,  during  the  session,  to 
be  every  day  at  the  Tribunal,  we  reside  at  Versailles,  for 
cheapness,  using  the  railroad  to  bring  us  to  and  from  Paris. 
Now,  it  chanced  that  I  set  out  from  Paris,  where  I  had 
spent  the  night  at  a  friend's  house,  b}^  the  early  train, 
which,  you  know,  starts  at  five  o'clock.  Very  few  people 
travel  bj'  that  train  ;  indeed,  I  believe  the  only  use  of  it  is 
to  go  down  to  Versailles  to  bring  up  people  from  thence. 
It  was  a  fine  cheery  morning- — cold,  but  bright  —  in  the 
month  of  March,  as  I  took  my  place  alone  in  one  of  the 
carriages  of  the  train.  After  the  usual  delay  (they  are 
never  prompt  with  this  train),  the  word  'En  route'  was 
given,  and  we  started ;  but  before  the  pace  was  accelerated 
to  a  rapid  rate,  the  door  was  wrenched  open  by  the  '  con- 
ducteur' — a  large  full-grown  baboon,  with  his  tail  over  his 
arm,  stepped  in  —  the  door  closed,  and  away  we  went. 
Ah !  gentlemen,  I  never  shall  forget  that  moment.  The 
beast  sat  opposite  me,  just  like  Monsieur  there,  with  his  old 
parchment  face,  his  round  brown  eyes,  and  his  long-clawed 
paws,  which  he  clasped  exactl}^  like  a  human  being.  Mon 
Dleu  !  what  agony  was  mine !  I  had  seen  these  creatures  in 
the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  and  knew  them  to  be  so  vicious ; 
but  I  thought  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  cultivate  the 
monster's  good  graces,  and  so  I  put  my  hand  in  my  reticule 


THE   ROAD  \^RSUS  THE   RAIL.  275 

and  drew  forth  a  morsel  of  cake,  which  I  presented  to 
him. 

"  '  Merci,  Madame,'  said  be,  with  a  polite  bow,  '  I  am 
not  hungry.' 

"Ah!  when  I  heard  him  say  this,  I  thought  I  should 
have  died.  The  beast  spoke  it  as  plain  as  I  am  speaking  to 
you ;  and  he  bowed  his  yellow  face,  and  made  a  gesture  of 
his  hand,  if  I  may  call  it  a  hand,  just  this  way.  Whether 
he  remarked  my  astonishment,  or  perceived  that  I  looked 
ill,  I  can't  say ;  but  he  observed  in  a  very  gentle  tone,  — 

"  '  Madame  is  fatigued.' 

"  "  Ah !  Monsieur,'  said  I,  '  I  never  knew  that  you  spoke 
French.' 

"  '  Out,  parhleu!'  said  he,  '  I  was  born  in  the  Pyrenees, 
and  am  only  half  a  Spaniard.' 

"  '  Monsieur's  father,  then,'  said  I,  '  was  he  a  French- 
man? * 

'■'■'•  Paul' re  hete^  said  he;  'he  was  from  the  Basque 
Provinces.     He  was  a  wild  fellow.' 

"'I  have  no  doubt  of  it,'  said  I;  'but  it  seems  they 
caught  him  at  last' 

*'  'You  are  right,  Madame.  Strange  enough  you  should 
have  guessed  it.  He  was  taken  in  Estremadura,  where  he 
joined  a  party  of  brigands.  They  knew  my  father  by  his 
queue ;  for,  amid  all  his  difficulties,  nothing  could  induce 
him  to  cut  it  off.' 

"'I  don't  wonder,'  said  I;  'it  would  have  been  very 
painful.' 

"  '  It  would  have  made  his  heart  bleed,  Madame,  to 
touch  a  hair  of  it.  He  was  proud  of  that  old  queue ;  and 
he  might  well  be,  —  it  was  the  best-looking  tail  in  the  North 
of  Spain.' 

"  '  Bless  my  heart,'  thought  I,  '  these  creatures  have  their 
vanities  too.' 

"  '  Ah,  Madame,  we  had  more  freedom  in  those  days. 
My  father  used  to  tell  me  of  the  nights  he  has  passed  on 
the  mountains,  under  the  shade,  or  sometimes  in  the 
branches  of  the  cork-trees,  with  pleasant  companions,  fellows 
of  his  own  stamp.  AVe  were  not  hunted  down  then,  as  we 
are  now ;  there  was  liberty  then.' 


276  TALES  OF  THE  TKAINS. 

"  '"Well,  for  my  part,'  said  I,  'I  should  not  dislike  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes,  if  I  was  like  one  of  you.  It  ain't  so 
bad  to  have  one's  meals  at  regular  times,  and  a  comfortable 
bed,  and  a  good  dry  house.' 

"  '  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  the  Jardin  des  Plantes. 
I  live  in  the  Kue  St.  Denis,  and  I  for  one  feel  the  chain 
about  my  ankles,  under  this  vile  rey'ime  we  live  in  at 
present.' 

"He  had  managed  to  slip  it  off  this  time,  anyhow;  for 
I  saw  the  creature's  legs  were  free. 

"  '  Ah,  Madame,'  exclaimed  Le  Singe,  slapping  his  fore- 
head with  his  paw,  '  men  are  but  rogues,  cheats,  and 
swindlers.' 

"  '  Are  apes  better?'  said  I,  modestly. 

"  '  I  protest  I  think  they  are,'  said  he.  'Except  a  pro- 
pensity to  petty  pilfering,  they  are  honest  beasts.' 

"  '  They  are  most  affectionate,'  said  I,  wishing  to  flatter 
him ;  but  he  took  no  notice  of  the  observation. 

"  '  Madame,'  exclaimed  he,  after  a  pause,  and  with  a  voice 
of  unusual  energy,  '  I  was  so  near  being  caught  in  a  trap  this 
very  morning.' 

"  '  Dear  me,'  said  I,  '  and  they  laid  a  trap  for  you? ' 

"'An  infernal  trap,'  said  he.  'A  mistake  might  have 
cost  me  my  liberty  for  life.  Do  you  know  M.  Laborde,  the 
director  of  the  Gymnase?  ' 

"  '  I  have  heard  of  him,  but  no  more.' 

"  <  What  a  "  fripon  "  he  is  !  There  is  not  such  a  scoundrel 
living ;  but  I  '11  have  him  yet.  Let  him  not  think  to  escape 
me !     Pardon,  Madame,  does  my  tail  inconvenience  you?' 

"  '  Not  at  all.  sir.     Pray  don't  stir.' 

"I  must  say  that,  in  his  excitement,  the  beast  whisked 
the  appendage  to  and  fro  with  his  paw  in  a  very  furious 
manner. 

"  '  Only  conceive,  Madame,  I  have  passed  the  night  in 
the  open  air ;  hunted,  chased,  pursued,  —  all  on  account 
of  the  accursed  M.  Laborde.  I  that  was  reared  in  a 
warm  climate,  brought  up  in  every  comfort,  and  habitu- 
ated to  the  most  tender  care, — exposed,  during  six  hours, 
to  the  damp  dews  of  a  night  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 
I  know  it  will  fall  on  my  chest,  or  I  shall  have  an  attack 


THE  ROAD  VERSUS  THE  RAIL. 


277 


of  rheumatism.  Ah,  mon  Dieu!  if  I  shouldn't  be  able 
to  climb  and  jump,  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  be 
dead.* 

"  '  No,  no,'  said  I,  trying  to  soothe  him,  '  don't  say  that. 
Here  am  I,  very  happy  and  contented,  and  could  n't  spring 


over  a  street  gutter  if  you  gave  me  the  Tuileries  for  doing 
it.' 

"  '  What  has  that  to  say  to  it?  '  cried  he,  fiercely.  '  Our 
instincts  and  pursuits  are  very  different.' 

"'Yes,  thank  God,'  muttered  I,  below  my  breath,  'I 
trust  they  are.' 

"  '  You  live  at  Versailles,'  said  he,  suddenly.  'Do  you 
happen  to  know  Antoine  Geoffroy,  gretRer  of  the  Tribunal? ' 


278  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

*' '  Yes,  parhleu!'  said  I ;   '  he  is  my  husband.' 

"  '  Oh,  Madame !  what  good  fortune  !  He  is  the  only  man 
in  France  can  assist  me.  I  want  him  to  catch  M.  Laborde. 
When  can  I  see  him  ? ' 

"  '  He  will  be  down  in  the  ten  o'clock  train,'  said  I.  '  You 
can  see  him  then,  Rue  du  Petit  Lait.' 

"  '  Ah,  but  where  shall  I  lie  concealed  till  then?  If  they 
should  overtake  me  and  catch  me,  —  if  they  found  me  out,  I 
should  be  ruined.' 

"  '  Come  with  me,  then.     I  '11  hide  you  safe  enough.' 

"The  beast  fell  on  its  knees,  and  kissed  my  hand  like  a 
Christian,  and  muttered  his  gratitude  till  we  reached  the 
station. 

* '  Early  as  it  was  —  only  six  o'clock  —  I  confess  I  did  not 
half  like  the  notion  of  taking  the  creature's  arm,  which  he 
offered  me,  as  we  got  out;  but  I  was  so  fearful  of  provok- 
ing him,  knowing  their  vindictive  nature,  that  I  assented 
with  as  good  a  grace  as  I  was  able ;  and  away  we  went,  he 
holding  his  tail  festooned  over  his  wrist,  and  carrying  my 
carpet-bag  in  the  other  hand.  So  full  was  he  of  his  anger 
against  M.  Laborde,  and  his  gratitude  to  me,  that  he  could 
talk  of  nothing  else  as  we  went  along,  nor  did  he  pay  the 
slightest  attention  to  the  laughter  and  jesting  our  appear- 
ance excited  from  the  workmen  who  passed  by. 

"  '  Madame  has  good  taste  in  a  cavalier,'  cried  one. 

"  '  There  '11  be  a  reward  for  that  fellow  to-morrow  or  next 
day,'  cried  another. 

"  'Yes,  yes,  — he  is  the  biggest  in  the  whole  Jardin  des 
Plantes,'  said  a  third. 

"  Such  were  the  pleasant  commentaries  that  met  my  ears, 
even  at  that  quiet  hour. 

"When  we  reached  the  Rue  du  Petit  Lait,  however,  a 
very  considerable  crowd  followed  us,  consisting  of  laborers 
and  people  on  their  way  to  work ;  and  I  assure  you  I  re- 
pented me  sorely  of  the  good  nature  that  had  exposed  me  to 
such  consequences ;  for  the  mob  pressed  us  closely,  many 
being  curious  to  examine  the  creature  near,  and  some  even 
going  so  far  as  to  pat  him  with  their  hands,  and  take  up  the 
tip  of  his  tail  in  their  fingers.  The  beast,  however,  with 
Admirable  tact,  never  spoke  a  word,  but  endured  the   an- 


THE   ROAD  VERSUS  THE   RAIL.  279 

noyance  without  any  signs  of  impatience,  —  hoping,  of 
course,  that  the  house  would  soon  screen  him  from  their 
\'iew;  but  only  think  of  the  bad  luck.  "When  we  arrived  at 
the  door,  we  rung  and  rung,  again  and  again,  but  no  one 
came.  In  fact,  the  servant,  not  expecting  me  home  before 
noon,  had  spent  the  night  at  a  friend's  house  ;  and  there  we 
were,  in  the  open  street,  with  a  crowd  increasing  every 
moment  around  us. 

'''What  is  to  be  done?'  said  I,  in  utter  despair;  but 
before  I  had  even  uttered  the  words,  the  beast  disengaged 
himself  from  me,  and,  springing  to  the  '  jalousies,'  scrambled 
his  way  up  to  the  top  of  them.  In  a  moment  more  he  was 
in  the  window  of  the  second  story,  and  then,  again  ascend- 
ing in  the  same  vfSLj,  reached  the  third,  the  mob  hailing  him 
with  cries  of  '  Bravo,  Singe  !  —  well  done,  ape  !  —  mind  your 
tail,  old  fellow! — that's  it,  monkey!'  —  and  so  on,  until 
with  a  bound  he  sprung  in  through  an  open  window,  and 
then,  popping  out  his  head,  and  with  a  gesture  of  little 
politeness,  made  by  his  outstretched  fingers  on  his  nose,  he 
cried  out,  '  Messieurs,  j  'ai  I'honneur  de  vous  saluer.' 

' '  If  every  beast  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  from  the  giraffe 
down  to  the  cliimpanzee,  had  spoken,  the  astonishment 
could  not  have  been  more  general ;  at  first  the  mob  were 
struck  mute  with  amazement,  but,  after  a  moment,  burst 
forth  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  '  Ah  !  I  know  that  fellow,  — I  have  paid  twenty  sous  to 
see  him  before  now,'  cried  one. 

"  '  So  have  I,'  said  another ;  '  and  it 's  rare  fun  to  look  at 
him  cracking  nuts,  and  swinging  himself  on  the  branch  of  a 
tree  by  his  tail.' 

"  At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  I  slipped  in  with- 
out hearing  farther  of  the  commentaries  of  the  crowd.  In  a 
little  time  the  servant  returned,  and  prepared  the  breakfast ; 
and  although,  as  you  may  suppose,  I  was  very  ignorant 
what  was  exactly  the  kind  of  entertainment  to  set  before  my 
guest,  I  got  a  great  dish  of  apples  and  a  plate  of  chestnuts, 
and  down  we  sat  to  our  meal. 

"  '  That  was  a  ring  at  the  door,  I  think,'  said  he ;  and  as 
he  spoke,  my  husband  entered  the  room. 

"'Ah!    you   here?'  cried   he,   addressing   M.  le  Singe. 


280  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

*  Parhleu  !  there 's  a  pretty  work  in  Paris  about  you,  —  it  is 
all  over  the  city  this  morning  that  you  are  off.' 

"  '  And  the  Director?  '  said  the  ape. 

"  '  The  old  bear,  he  is  off  too.' 

"  '  So,  thought  I  to  myself,  —  '  '  it  would  appear  the  other 
beasts  have  made  their  escape  too.' 

"'Then,  I  suppose,'  said  the  ape,  'there  will  be  uo 
catching  him.' 

"  '  I  fear  not,'  said  my  husband  ;  '  but  if  they  do  succeed 
in  overtaking  the  old  fox,  they  '11  have  the  skin  off  him.' 

"  Cruel  enough,  thought  I  to  myself,  considering  it  was 
the  creature's  iustinct. 

"  '  These,  however,  are  the  orders  of  the  Court;  and  when 
you  have  signed  this  one,  I  shall  set  off  in  pursuit  of  him  at 
once.'  So  said  my  husband,  as  he  produced  a  roll  of  papers 
from  his  pocket,  which  the  ape  perused  with  the  greatest 
avidity. 

"  '  He  '11  be  for  crossing  the  water,  I  warrant.' 

"'No  doubt  of  it,'  said  my  husband.  'France  will  be 
too  hot  for  him  for  a  while.' 

"'Poor  beast,'  said  I,  'he'll  be  happier  in  his  native 
snows.' 

"  At  this  they  both  laughed  heartily;  and  the  ape  signed 
his  name  to  the  papers,  and  brushed  the  sand  over  them 
with  the  tip  of  his  tail. 

"  '  "We  must  get  back  to  Paris  at  once,'  said  he,  '  and  in  a 
coach  too,  for  I  cannot  have  a  mob  after  me  again.' 

"'Leave  that  to  me,'  said  m}^  husband.  'I'll  see  you 
safely  home.  Meanwhile  let  me  lend  you.  a  cloak  and  a 
hat ; '  and,  with  these  words,  he  dressed  up  the  creature  so 
that  when  the  collar  was  raised  you  would  not  have  known 
him  from  that  gentleman  opposite. 

"'Adieu,'  said  he,  'Madame,'  with  a  wave  of  his  hand, 
^  ail  revoir.  I  hope,  if  it  would  give  you  any  pleasure  to 
witness  our  little  performances  — ' 

"  'No,  no,'  said  I,  'there's  a  small  creature  goes  about 
here,  on  an  organ,  in  a  three-cornered  cocked-hat  and  a  red 
coat,  and  I  can  have  him  for  half  an  hour  for  two  sous.' 

"  '  Yotre  serviteur,  Madame,'  said  he,  with  an  angry  whisk 
of  his  tail ;  for  although  I  did  not  intend  it,  the  beast  was 
annoyed  at  my  remark. 


THE   ROAD  VERSUS   THE   RAIL.  281 

"Away  they  went,  Messieurs,  and  from  that  hour  to  this 
I  never  heard  more  of  the  creature,  nor  of  his  companions ; 
for  my  husband  makes  it  a  rule  never  to  converse  on  topics 
relating  to  his  business,  —  and  it  seems  he  was,  somehow  or 
other,  mixed  up  in  the  transaction." 

"  But,  Madame,"  cried  one  of  the  passengers,  "you  don't 
mean  to  palm  this  fable  on  us  for  reality,  and  make  us 
believe  something  more  absurd  than  ^sop  himself  ever 
invented  ?  " 

"If  it  be  only  an  impertinent  allegory,"  said  the  old 
gentleman  opposite,  "  I  must  say,  it  is  in  the  worst  possible 
taste." 

"  Or  if,"  said  a  little  white-faced  fat  man,  with  spectacles, 
—  "or  if  it  be  a  covert  attack  upon  the  National  Guard  of 
Paris,  as  the  corporal  of  the  95th  legion,  of  the  37th  arron- 
dissement,  I  repel  the  insinuation  with  contempt." 

"  Heaven  forbid,  gentlemen!  The  facts  I  have  narrated 
are  strictly  true ;  my  husband  can  confirm  them  in  every 
particular,  and  I  have  only  to  regret  that  anj'  trait  in  the 
ape's  character  should  suggest  uncomfortable  recollections 
to  yourselves." 

The  train  had  now  reached  its  destination,  and  the  old 
lady  got  out,  amid  the  maledictions  of  some,  and  the  stifled 
laughter  of  others  of  the  passengers,  —  for  only  one  or  two 
had  shrewdness  enough  to  perceive  that  she  was  one  of 
those  good  credulous  souls  who  implicitly  believed  all  she 
had  narrated,  and  whose  judgment  having  been  shaken  by 
the  miraculous  power  of  a  railroad  which  converted  the 
journey  of  a  day  into  the  trip  of  an  hour,  could  reall}'  have 
swallowed  any  other  amount  of  the  apparently  impossible 
it  might  be  her  fortune  to  meet  with. 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who  may  not  be  as  easy  of  belief 
as  the  good  Madame  Geoffroy,  let  me  add  one  word  as  the 
solution  of  this  mystery.  The  ape  was  no  other  than  M. 
Gouffe,  who,  being  engaged  to  perform  as  a  monkey  in 
the  afterpiece  of  "  La  Perouse,"  was  actually  cracking  nuts 
in  a  tree,  when  he  learned  from  a  conversation  in  "  the 
flats,"  that  the  director,  M.  Laboi'de,  had  just  made  his 
escape  with  all  the  funds  of  the  theatre,  and  six  months  of 
M.  Gouffe's  own  salary.     Several  police-oflicers  had  already 


282  TALES   OF  THE  TRAINS. 

gained  access  to  the  back  of  the  stage,  and  were  arresting 
the  actors  as  they  retired.  Poor  Jocko  had  nothing  for  it, 
then,  but  to  put  his  agility  to  the  test,  and,  having  climbed 
to  the  top  of  the  tree,  he  scrambled  in  succession  over  the 
heads  of  several  scenes,  till  he  reached  the  back  of  the 
stage,  where,  watching  his  opportunity,  he  descended  in 
safety,  rushed  down  the  stairs,  and  gained  the  street.  By 
immense  exertions  he  arrived  at  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
where  he  lay  concealed  until  the  starting  of  the  early  train 
for  Versailles.  The  remainder  of  his  adventure  the  reader 
already  knows. 

Satisfactory  as  this  explanation  may  be  to  some,  I  confess 
I  should  be  sorry  to  make  it,  if  1  thought  it  would  reach 
the  eyes  or  ears  of  poor  Madame  Geoffroy,  and  thus  dis- 
abuse her  of  a  pleasant  illusion,  and  the  harmless  gratifica- 
tion of  recounting  her  story  to  others  as  unsuspecting  as 
herself. 


THE  TUNNEL   OF  TRUBAU. 


MR.    BLAKE    IN    BELGIUM. 


have  not  more 
prejudices  and  superstitions 
than  railroad  travellers.  All  the  preferences  for  the  winning 
places,  the  lucky  pack,  the  shuffling  cut,  &c.,  have  their 
representatives  among  the  prevailing  notions  of  those  who 
"fly  by  steam." 

"  I  always  sit  with  my  back  to  the  engine,"  cries  one. 

"  I  always  travel  as  far  from  the  engine  as  possible,"  ex- 
claims another. 

^'■1  never  trust  myself  behind  the  luggage  train,"  adds  a 
third. 

"There's  notliing  like  a  middle  place,"  whispers  a  fourth  : 
and  so  on  they  go ;  as  if,  when  a  collision  does  come,  and 
the  clanking  monster  has  taken  an  erratic  fit,  and  eschews 
the  beaten  path,  any  precautions  or  preferences  availed  in 


284  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

the  slightest  degree,  or  that  it  signified  a  snort  of  the  steam, 
whether  you  were  flattened  into  a  pancake,  or  blown  up  in 
the  shape  of  a  human  soujie.  "The  Rail"  is  no  Whig 
politician,  no  "  bit-b3'-bit "  reformer.  When  a  smash  hap- 
pens, .  skulls  are  as  fragile  as  saucers,  and  bones  as 
brittle  as  Bohemian  glass.  The  old  ' '  fast  coach  "  never 
killed  any  one  but  the  timid  gentleman  that  jumped  oflf. 
To  be  sure,  it  always  dislocated  the  coachman's  shoulder ; 
but  then,  from  old  habit  of  being  shot  out,  the  bone  rolled 
in  again,  like  a  game  of  cup  and  ball.  The  insides  and  out 
scraped  each  other,  swore  fearful  intentions  against  the 
proprietors,  and  some  ugly  fellow  took  his  action  of 
damages  for  the  loss  his  prospects  sustained  by  disfigure- 
ment. This  was  the  whole  extent  of  the  mishap.  Not  so 
now,  when  four  hundred  souls  are  dashed  frantically  together 
and  pelt  heads  at  each  other  as  people  throw  bo7ibons  at  a 
carnival. 

Steam  has  invented  something  besides  fast  travelling; 
and  if  it  has  supplied  a  new  method  of  getting  through  the 
world,  it  has  also  suggested  about  twenty  new  ways  of  going 
out  of  it.  Now,  it 's  the  old  story  of  the  down  train  and  the 
up,  both  bent  on  keeping  the  same  line  of  rails,  and  coura- 
geously resolving  to  see  which  is  the  "  better  man,"  a  point 
which  must  always  remain  questionable,  as  the  umpires  never 
sui'vive.  Again,  it  is  the  engine  itself,  that,  sick  of  straight 
lines,  catches  a  fancy  for  the  waving  ones  of  beauty,  and 
sets  out,  full  speed,  over  a  fine  grass  country,  taking  the 
fences  as  coolly  as  Allan  M'Donough  himself,  and  caring 
just  as  little  for  what  "comes  behind:"  these  incidents 
being  occasionally  varied  by  the  train  taking  the  sea  or 
taking  fire,  either  of  which  has  its  own  inconveniences,  more 
likely  to  be  imagined  than  described. 

I  remember  once  hearing  this  subject  fully  discussed  in  a 
railroad  carriage,  where  certainly  the  individuals  seemed 
amateurs  in  accidents,  every  man  having  some  story  to  relate 
or  some  adventure  to  recount,  of  the  grievous  dangers  of 
"The  Rail."  I  could  not  help  questioning  to  myself  the 
policy  of  such  revelations,  so  long  as  we  journeyed  within  the 
range  of  similar  calamities;  but  somehow  self-tormenting 
is  a  very  human  practice,  and  we  all  indulged  in  it  to  the 


THE  TUNNEL  OF  TRUBAU.  285 

utmost.  The  narratives  themselves  had  their  chief  interest 
from  some  peculiarity  in  the  mode  of  telling,  or  in  the  look 
and  manner  of  the  recounter ;  all  save  one,  which  reall}^  had 
features  of  horror  all  its  own,  and  which  were  cousiderablj' 
heightened  by  the  simple  but  powerful  style  of  him  who  told 
it.  I  feel  how  totally  incapable  1  am  of  conveying  even  the 
most  distant  imitation  of  his  manner ;  but  the  story,  albeit 
neither  complicated  nor  involved,  I  must  repeat,  were  it 
only  as  a  reminiscence  of  a  most  agreeable  fellow-traveller, 
Count  Hemi  de  Beulixitz,  the  Saxon  envoy  at  Vienna. 

THE   TUNNEL   OF   TRUBAU. 

"  I  was,"  says  the  Count  —  for  so  far  I  must  imitate  him, 
and  speak  in  the  first  person — "I  was  appointed  special 
envoy  to  the  Austrian  court  about  a  year  and  a  half  since, 
under  circumstances  which  required  the  utmost  despatch, 
and  was  obliged  to  set  out  the  very  day  after  receiving  my 
appointment.  The  new  line  of  railroad  from  Dresden  to 
Vienna  was  only  in  progress,  but  a  little  below  Prague  the 
line  was  open,  and  by  travelling  thither  en  poste^  I  should 
reach  the  Austrian  capital  without  loss  of  time.  This  I 
resolved  on  ;  and  by  the  forenoon  of  the  day  after,  arrived 
at  Triibau,  where  I  placed  my  carriage  on  a  truck,  and  com- 
fortably composed  myself  to  rest,  under  the  impression  that 
I  need  never  stir  till  within  the  walls  of  Vienna. 

"If  you  have  ever  travelled  in  this  part  of  Europe,  I 
need  not  remind  you  of  the  sad  change  of  prospect  which 
ensues  after  you  pass  the  Bohemian  frontier.  Saxony,  rich 
in  picturesque  beauty;  the  valley  of  the  Elbe,  in  many 
respects  finer  than  the  Rhine  itself;  the  proud  summit  of 
the  Bastey ;  the  rock-crowned  fortress  of  Koenigstein,  —  are 
all  succeeded  by  monotonous  tracts  of  dark  forest,  or  still 
more  dreary  plains,  disfigured,  not  enlivened  by  villages  of 
wretched  hovels,  poor,  I  have  heard,  as  the  dwellings  of  the 
Irish  peasant.  What  a  contrast,  too !  the  people,  the  hag- 
gard faces  and  sallow  cheeks  of  the  swarthy  Bohemian,  with 
the  blue  eye  and  ruddy  looks  of  the  Saxon  !  '  Das  Sachsen- 
land  wo  die  hubsche  mitdchen  auf  die  Ballme  wachsen.' 
Proud  as  I  felt  at  the  superiority  of  my  native  country,  I 


286  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

could  not  resist  the  depression,  suggested  by  the  mouotouy 
of  the  scene  before  me,  its  dull  uniformity,  its  hopeless 
poverty ;  and  as  I  sunk  into  a  sleep,  my  dreams  took  the 
gloomy  aspect  of  my  waking  thoughts,  gloomier,  perhaps, 
because  unrelieved  by  all  effort  of  volition,  —  a  dark  river 
uurufHed  by  a  siugle  breeze. 

''  The  perpetual  bang  !  bang  !  of  the  piston  has,  in  its  reite- 
rated stroke,  somethiug  diabolically  terrible.  It  beats  upon 
the  heart  with  an  impression  irresistibly  solemn  !  I  remem- 
ber how  in  my  dreams  the  accessories  of  the  train  kept 
flitting  round  me,  and  I  thought  the  measured  sounds  were 
the  clickings  of  some  infernal  clock,  which  meted  out  time 
to  legions  of  devils.  I  fancied  them  capering  to  and  fro 
amid  flame  and  smoke,  with  shrieks,  screams,  and  wild 
gestures.  My  brain  grew  hot  with  excitement.  I  essayed 
to  awake,  but  the  very  rocking  of  the  train  steeped  my 
faculties  in  a  lethargy.  At  last,  by  a  tremendous  effort,  I 
cried  out  aloud,  and  the  words  broke  the  spell,  and  I  awoke 
—  dare  I  call  it  awaking?  I  rubbed  my  eyes,  pinched  my 
arms,  stamped  with  my  feet ;  alas  I  it  was  too  true !  —  the 
reality  announced  itself  to  ray  senses.  I  was  there,  seated 
in  my  carriage,  amid  a  darkness  blacker  than  the  blackest 
night.  A  low  rumbling  sound,  as  of  far-distant  thunder, 
had  succeeded  to  the  louder  bang  of  the  engine.  A  dread- 
ful suspicion  flashed  on  me,  —  it  grew  stronger  with 
each  second;  and,  ere  a  minute  more,  I  saw  what  had 
happened.  The  truck  on  which  my  carriage  was  placed 
had  by  some  accident  become  detached  from  the  train ; 
and  while  the  other  portion  of  the  train  proceeded  on  its 
way,  there  was  I,  alone,  deserted,  and  forgotten,  in  the 
dark  tunnel  of  Trtibau,  —  for  such  I  at  once  guessed  must  be 
the  dreary  vault,  uuillumiued  by  one  ray  of  light  or  the 
glimmering  of  a  single  lamp.  Convictions,  when  the  work 
of  instinct  rather  than  reflection,  have  a  stunning  effect, 
that  seems  to  arrest  all  thought,  and  produce  a  very  stagna- 
tion of  the  faculties.  Mine  were  in  this  state.  As  when, 
in  the  shock  of  battle,  some  terrible  explosion,  dealing 
death  to  thousands  at  once,  will  appall  the  contending  hosts, 
and  make  men  aghast  with  horror,  so  did  my  ideas  become 
fixed  and  rooted  to  one  horrible  object ;  and  for  some  time 
I  could  neither  think  of  the  event  nor  calculate  on  its  con- 


THE  TUNNEL  OF  TRUBAU.  287 

sequences,  Happy  for  me  if  the  stupefactiou  continued ! 
No  sooner,  however,  had  my  presence  of  mind  returned, 
than  I  began  to  anticipate  every  possible  fatality  that  might 
occur.  Death  I  knew  it  must  be,  and  what  a  death !  —  to 
be  run  down  by  the  train  for  Prague,  or  smashed  by  the 
advancing  one  from  Olmutz.  How  near  my  fate  might  be, 
I  could  not  guess.  I  neither  knew  how  long  it  was  since  I 
entered  the  tunnel,  nor  at  what  hours  the  other  trains 
started.  They  might  be  far  distant,  or  they  might  be  near 
at  hand.  Near !  —  what  was  space  when  such  terrible  power 
existed  ?  —  a  league  was  the  work  of  minutes  —  at  that  very 
moment  the  furious  engine  might  be  rushing  on  !  I  thought 
of  the  stoker  stirring  the  red  fire.  I  fancied  I  saw  the  smoke 
roll  forth,  thicker  and  blacker,  as  the  heat  increased,  and 
through  my  ears  went  the  thugging  bang  of  the  piston, 
quicker  and  quicker ;  and  I  screamed  aloud  in  my  agony, 
and  called  out  to  them  to  stop !  I  must  have  swooned,  for 
when  consciousness  again  came  to  me,  I  was  still  amid  the 
silence  and  darkness  of  the  tunnel.  I  listened,  and  oh ! 
with  what  terrible  intensity  the  human  ear  can  strain  its 
powers  when  the  sounds  awaited  are  to  announce  life  or 
death !  The  criminal  in  the  dock,  whose  eyes  are  riveted 
in  a  glazy  firmness  on  him  who  shall  speak  his  doom,  drinks 
in  the  words  ere  they  are  well  uttered,  —  each  syllable  falls 
upon  his  heart  as  fatal  to  hope  as  is  the  headsman's  axe  to 
life.  The  accents  are  not  human  sounds ;  it  is  the  trumpet 
of  eternity  that  fills  his  ears,  and  rings  within  his  brain,  — the 
loud  blast  of  the  summoning  angel  calling  him  to  judgment. 

"  Terrible  as  the  thunder  of  coming  destruction  is,  there 
is  yet  a  sense  more  fearfully  appalling  in  the  unbroken 
silence  of  the  tomb,  —  the  stillness  of  death  without  its 
lethargy  !  Dreadful  moment !  —  what  fearful  images  it  can 
call  up !  —  what  pictures  it  can  present  before  the  mind  !  — 
how  fearfully  reality  may  be  blended  with  the  fitful  forms 
of  fancy,  and  fact  be  associated  even  with  the  imjwssible ! 

"  I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  the  bounds  of  life  were 
already  past,  and  that  no  dreadful  interval  of  torture  was 
yet  before  me;  but  this  consolation,  miserable  though  it 
was,  yielded  as  I  touched  the  side  of  the  carriage,  and  felt 
the  objects  I  so  well  knew.     No ;  it  was  evident  the  dreaded 


288  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

moment  was  yet  to  come,  —  the  shocking  ordeal  was  still  to 
be  passed ;  and  before  I  should  sink  into  the  sleep  that 
knows  not  waking,  there  must  be  endured  the  torture  of  a 
death-struggle,  or,  mayhap,  the  lingering  agony  of  pro- 
tracted suffering. 

"  As  if  in  a  terrible  compensation  for  the  shortness  of 
my  time  on  earth,  minutes  were  dragged  out  to  the  space  of 
years,  —  amid  the  terrors  of  the  present,  I  thought  of  the 
past  and  the  future.  The  past,  with  its  varied  fortune  of 
good  and  ill,  of  joy  and  sorrow,  —  how  did  I  review  it  now ! 
With  what  scrutiny  did  I  pry  into  my  actions,  and  call  upon 
myself  to  appear  at  the  bar  of  my  conscience !  Had  my 
present  mission  to  Vienna  contained  anything  Machiavelic  in 
its  nature,  I  should  have  trembled  with  the  superstitious 
terror  that  my  misfortune  was  a  judgment  of  Heaven.  But 
no.  It  was  a  mere  commonplace  negotiation,  of  which  time 
was  the  only  requisite.  Even  this,  poor  as  it  was,  had  some 
consolation  in  it,  —  I  should,  at  least,  meet  death  without 
the  horror  of  its  being  a  punishment. 

"  I  had  often  shuddered  at  the  fearful  narratives  of  people 
buried  alive  in  a  trance,  or  walled  up  within  the  cell  of  a 
convent.  How  willingly  would  I  now  have  grasped  at  such 
an  alternative !  Such  a  fate  would  steal  over  without  the 
terrible  moment  of  actual  suffering,  —  the  crash  and  the 
death  struggle !  I  fancied  a  thousand  alleviating  circum- 
stances in  the  dreamy  lethargy  of  gradual  dissolution. 
Then  came  the  thought — and  how  strange  that  such  a 
thought  should  obtrude  at  such  a  time  !  —  what  will  be  said 
of  me  hereafter?  —  how  will  the  newspapers  relate  the 
occurrence?  "Will  they  speculate  on  the  agony  of  my  an- 
ticipated doom  ?  —  will  they  expatiate  on  all  that  I  am  now 
actually  enduring?  What  will  the  passengers  in  the  train 
say,  when  the  collision  shall  have  taken  place?  Will  there 
be  enough  of  me  left  to   make  investigation  easy?     How 

poor  G will  regret  me !  and  I  am  sure  he  will  never  be 

seen  in  public  till  he  has  invented  a  hon  ^mof  on  my  destiny. 

"  Again,  I  recurred  to  the  idea  of  culpability,  and  asked 
myself  whether  there  might  not  be  some  contravention  of  the 
intentions  of  Providence  by  this  newly  invented  power  of 
steam,  which  thus  involved  me  in  a  fate  so  dreadful?     What 


THE  TUNNEL  OF  TRUBAU.  289 

right  bad  man  to  arrogate  to  himself  a  prerogative  of  motion 
his  own  physical  powers  denied  him  ;  and  why  did  he  dare 
to  penetrate  into  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth,  when  his  in- 
stinct clearly  pointed  to  avocations  on  the  surface?  These 
reflections  were  speedily  routed  ;  for  now,  a  low,  rumbling 
sound,  such  as  I  have  heard  described  as  the  premonitory 
sign  of  a  coming  earthquake,  filled  the  tunnel.  It  grew 
louder  and  louder ;  and  whether  it  were  the  sudden  change 
from  the  dread  stillness,  or  that,  in  reality,  it  were  so,  it 
sounded  like  the  booming  of  the  sea  within  some  gigantic 
cavern.  I  listened  anxiously,  and  oh,  terrible  thought !  now 
I  could  hear  the  heavy  thug !  thug !  of  the  piston.  It  was 
a  train  I 

"  A  train  coming  towards  me  !  Every  sob  of  the  straining 
engine  sent  a  death-pang  through  me ;  the  wild  roar  of  a 
lion  could  not  convey  more  terror  to  my  heart !  I  thought 
of  leaving  the  carriage,  and  clinging  to  the  side  of  the  tun- 
nel ;  but  there  was  only  one  line  of  rails,  and  the  space 
barely  permitted  the  train  to  pass !  It  was  now  too  late  for 
any  effort ;  the  thundering  clamor  of  the  engine  swelled  like 
the  report  of  heavy  artillery,  and  then  a  red  hazy  light 
gleamed  amid  the  darkness,  as  though  an  eye  of  fire  was 
looking  into  my  very  soul.  It  grew  into  a  ghastly  bright- 
ness, and  I  thought  its  flame  could  almost  scorch  me.  It 
came  nearer  and  nearer.  The  dark  figures  of  the  drivers 
passed  and  re-passed  behind  it.  I  screamed  and  yelled  in 
ray  agony,  and  in  the  frenzy  of  the  moment  drew  a  pistol 
from  my  pocket,  and  fired, — why,  or  in  what  direction,  I 
know  not.  A  shrill  scream  shot  through  the  gloom.  Was 
it  a  death-cry?     I  could  not  tell,  for  I  had  fainted. 

"The  remainder  is  easily  told.  Tlie  train  had,  on  dis- 
covering my  being  left  behind,  sent  back  an  engine  to  fetch 
me ;  but  from  a  mistake  of  the  driver,  who  was  given  to 
suppose  that  I  had  not  entered  the  tunnel,  he  had  kept  the 
engine  at  half  speed,  and  without  the  happy  accident  of  the 
pistol  and  the  flash  of  the  powder,  I  should  inevitably  have 
been  run  down ;  for,  even  as  it  was,  the  collision  drove  my 
carriage  about  fifty  yards  backwards,  an  incident  of  which, 
happily,  I  neither  was  constjious  at  the  time,  nor  suffered 
from  afterwards." 

VOL.   II.  — 19 


290  TALES   OF   THE   TRAINS. 

"  That  comes  of  travelling  on  a  foreign  railroad!"  mut- 
tered a  ruddy-faced  old  gentleman  in  drab  shorts.  "  Those 
fellows  have  no  more  notion  of  how  to  manage  an  engine  —  " 

"  Than  the  Pope  has  of  the  polka,"  chimed  in  a  very  Irish 
accent  from  the  corner  of  the  carriage. 

"Very  true,  sir,"  rejoined  the  former.  "English  is  the 
only  language  to  speak  to  the  boiler.  The  moment  they  try 
it  on  with  French  or  German,  something  goes  wrong.  You 
saw  how  they  roasted  the  people  at  Versailles,  and  —  " 

"Ah!  the  devil  a  bit  they  know  about  it  at  all,"  inter- 
posed the  Emeralder.  "  The  water  is  never  more  than  luke- 
warm, and  there  "s  more  smoke  out  of  the  chap's  pipe  that 
stands  in  front  than  out  of  the  funnel.  They  've  generally 
an  engine  at  each  end,  and  it  takes  twenty  minutes  at  every 
station  to  decide  which  way  they  '11  go,  —  one  wanting  this 
way,  and  the  other  that." 

"Is  it  not  better  in  Belgium?  "  asked  I. 

"  Belgium,  is  it?  —  bad  luck  to  it  for  Belgium  :  I  ought  to 
know  something  of  how  they  manage.  There  is  n't  a  word 
of  truth  among  them.     Were  you  ever  at  Antwerp?" 

"Yes;  I  have  passed  through  it  several  times." 

"Well,  how  long  does  it  take  to  go  from  Antwerp  to 
Brussels  ?  " 

"  Something  more  than  an  hour,  if  I  remember  aright." 

"  Something  more! — on  my  conscience  I  think  it  does. 
See  now,  it's  four  days  and  a  half  travelling  the  same 
journey." 

A  burst  of  laughter  irrepressible  met  this  speech,  for 
scarcely  any  one  of  the  party  had  not  had  personal  experi- 
ence of  the  short  distance  alluded  to. 

"You  may  laugh  as  much  as  you  please, — you're  wel- 
come to  your  fun  ;  but  I  went  the  road  myself,  and  I  'd  like 
to  see  which  of  you  would  say  I  did  n't." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  tone  nor  the  intention  of  the 
speech ;  it  was  said  without  any  elevation  of  voice  or  any 
bravado  of  manner,  but  with  the  quiet,  easy  determination 
of  a  man  who  only  asked  reasonable  grounds  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  blow  some  other  gentleman's  brains  out.  Some 
disclaimed  all  idea  of  a  contradiction,  others  apologized  for 
the  mirth  at  the  great  disparity  of  the  two  statements,  —  one 
alleging  an  hour  for  what  another  said  four  days  were  re- 


THE  TUNNEL  OF  TRUBAU.  291 

quired;  while  I,  anxious  to  learu  the  Irishman's  explana- 
tion, timidly  hinted  a  desire  to  hear  more  of  his  travelling 
experiences. 

He  acceded  to  my  wish  with  as  much  readiness  as  he 
would  probably  have  done  had  I  made  overtures  of  battle, 
and  narrated  the  following  short  incident,  which,  for  mem- 
ory's sake,  I  have  called 

"MR.   BLAKE  IN  BELGIUM." 

"  I  was  persuaded,"  quoth  Mr.  Blake, —  "  I  was  persuaded 
by  my  wife  that  we  ought  to  go  and  live  abroad  for  economy, 
—  that  there  would  be  no  end  to  the  saving  we  'd  make  by 
leaving  our  house  in  Galway,  and  taking  up  our  residence 
in  France  or  Belgium.  Fu-st,  we  'd  let  the  place  for  at  least 
six  hundred  a  year,  —  the  garden  and  orchard  we  set  down 
for  one  hundred ;  then  we  'd  send  away  all  the  lazy  '  old 
hangers  on,'  as  my  wife  called  them,  such  as  the  gate- 
keepers and  gardeners  and  stable  boys.  These,  her  sister 
told  her,  were  '  eating  us  up '  entu-ely ;  and  her  sister  was  a 
clever  one  too,  —  a  widow  woman  that  had  lived  in  every 
part  of  the  globe,  and  knew  all  the  scandal  of  every  capital 
in  Europe,  on  less  than  four  hundred  a  year.  She  told  my 
wife  that  Ireland  was  the  lowest  place  at  all ;  nobody  would 
think  of  bringing  up  their  family  there ;  no  education,  no 
manners,  and,  worst  of  all,  no  men  that  could  afford  to 
marry.  This  was  a  home-stroke,  for  we  had  five  grown-up 
gMs. 

"'My  dear,'  said  she,  'you'll  live  like  the  Duchess  of 
Sutherland,  abroad,  for  eight  hundred  a  year ;  you  '11  have 
a  beautiful  house,  see  company,  keep  your  carriage  and 
saddle  horses,  and  drink  Champagne  every  day  of  the  week, 
like  small  beer ;  then  velvets  and  lace  are  to  be  had  for  a 
song  ;  the  housemaids  wear  nothing  but  silk  ; '  in  fact,  from 
my  wife  down  to  little  Joe,  that  heard  sugar  candy  was  only 
a  penny  an  ounce,  we  were  all  persuaded  there  was  nothing 
like  going  abroad  for  economy. 

"Mrs.  Fitzmaurioe  —  that  was  my  sister-in-law's  name 
—  explained  to  us  how  there  was  nothing  so  expensive  as 
Ireland. 

"  '  'T  is  not,   my  dear,'   said  she,    '  that  things   are    not 


292  TALES   OF   THE   TRAINS. 

cheap;  but  that's  the  reason  it's  ruinous  to  live  here. 
There  's  old  Molly  the  cook  uses  more  meat  in  a  day  than 
would  feed  a  foreign  family  for  a  month.  If  you  want  a 
beefsteak,  you  must  kill  a  heifer.  Now  abroad  you  just  get 
the  joint  you  want,  to  the  very  size  you  wish,  —  no  bone,  if 
you  don't  ask  for  it.  And  look  at  the  waste.  In  the  stables 
you  keep  eight  horses,  and  you  never  have  a  pair  for  the 
carriage.  The  boys  are  mounted ;  but  you  and  the  girls 
have  nothing  to  drive  out  with.  Besides,  what  can  you  do 
with  that  overgrown  garden  ?  It  costs  you  £50  a  3'ear,  and 
you  get  nothing  out  of  it  but  crab-apples  and  cabbages. 
No,  no ;  the  Continent  is  the  place ;  and  as  for  society, 
instead  of  old  Darcy,  of  Ballinamuck,  or  Father  Luke,  for 
company,  you  '11  have  Prince  this,  and  Count  that,  foreign 
ministers  and  plenipotentiaries,  archdukes,  and  attaches 
without  end.  There  will  be  more  stars  round  your  dinner- 
table  than  ever  you  saw  in  the  sky  on  a  frosty  night.  And 
the  girls.  I  would  n't  wonder  if  the  girls,  by  giving  a  sly 
hint  that  they  had  a  little  money,  might  n't  marry  some  of 
the  young  Coburgs.' 

"  These  were  flattering  visions,  while  for  me  the  trap  was 
baited  with  port,  duty  free,  and  strong  Burgundy,  at  one  and 
sixpence  a  bottle.  My  son  Tom  was  taught  to  expect  cigars 
at  twopence  a  dozen  ;  and  my  second  daughter,  Mary,  was 
told  that,  with  the  least  instruction,  her  Irish  jig  could  be 
converted  into  a  polka.  In  fact,  it  was  clear  we  had  only 
to  go  abroad  to  save  two-thirds  of  our  income,  and  become 
the  most  accomplished  people  into  the  bargain. 

"  From  the  hour  this  notion  was  mooted  amongst  us, 
Ireland  became  detestable.  The  very  pleasures  and  pas- 
times we  once  liked,  grew  distasteful ;  even  the  society  of 
our  friends  came  associated  with  ideas  of  vulgarity  that 
deprived  it  of  all  enjoyment. 

"  '  That  miserable  satin-turque,'  exclaimed  my  wife,  '  it 
is  a  mere  rag,  and  it  cost  me  five  and  ninepence  a  yard. 
Mrs.  Fitz.  says  that  a  shop-girl  wouldn't  wear  it  in  Paris.' 

"  '  Infernal  climate  ! '  cries  Tom  ;  '  nothing  but  rain  above 
and  mud  beneath.' 

"  'And,  dear  papa,'  cries  Sophy,  '  old  Flannigan  has  no 
more  notion  of  French  than  I  have  of  fortification.  He  calls 
the  man  that  sells  sausages  the  Marchand  de  combustibles.' 


MR.   BLAKE   IN  BELGIUM.  293 

"If  these  vreve  not  reasons  for  going  abroad,  I  know 
nothing  of  Ireland ;  and  so  we  advertised  '  Castle  Blake ' 
to  be  let,  and  the  farming-stock  to  be  sold.  The  latter 
wasn't  difficult.  My  neighbors  bought  up  everything  at 
short  bills,  to  be  renewed  whenever  they  became  due.  As 
for  the  house,  it  was  n't  so  easy  to  find  a  tenant.  So  I  put 
in  the  herd  to  take  care  of  it,  and  gave  him  the  garden  for 
his  pains.  I  turned  in  my  cattle  over  the  lawn,  which,  after 
eating  the  grass,  took  to  nibbling  the  young  trees  and  bark- 
ing the  older  ones.  This  was  not  a  very  successful  com- 
mencement of  economy  ;  but  Mrs.  Fitz.  always  said,  — 

"  '  What  matter?  you  '11  save  more  than  double  the  amount 
the  first  year  you  are  abroad.' 

"  To  carry  out  their  economical  views,  it  was  determined 
that  Brussels,  and  not  Paris,  should  be  our  residence  for  the 
first  year;  and  thither  my  wife  and  two  sons  and  five 
daughters  repaired,  under  the  special  guidance  of  Mrs.  Fitz., 
who  undertook  the  whole  management  of  our  affairs,  both 
domestic  and  social.  I  was  left  behind  to  arrange  certain 
money  matters,  and  about  the  payment  of  interest  on  some 
mortgages,  which  I  consoled  myself  by  thinking  that  a  few 
years  of  foreign  economy  would  enable  me  to  pay  off  in  full. 

"  It  was  nearly  six  months  after  their  departure  from  Ire- 
land that  I  prepared  to  follow,  —  not  in  such  good  spirits,  I 
confess,  as  I  once  hoped  would  be  my  companions  on  the 
journey.  The  cheapness  of  Continental  life  requires,  it  would 
appear,  considerable  outlay  at  the  first,  probably  on  the 
principle  that  a  pastry-cook's  apprentice  is  always  surfeited 
with  tarts  during  the  first  week,  so  that  he  never  gets  any 
taste  for  sweetmeats  afterwards.  This  might  account  for  my 
wife  having  drawn  about  twelve  hundred  pounds  in  that 
short  time,  and  always  accompanying  every  fresh  demand 
for  money  with  an  eloquent  panegyric  on  her  own  economy. 
To  believe  her,  never  was  there  a  household  so  admirably 
managed.  The  housemaid  could  dress  hair;  the  butler 
could  drive  the  carriage ;  the  writing-master  taught  music ; 
the  dancing-master  gave  my  eldest  daughter  a  lesson  in 
French  without  any  extra  charge.  Everything  that  was  ex- 
pensive was  the  cheapest'  in  the  end.  Genoa  velvet  lasted 
for  ever ;  real  Brussels  lace  never  wore  out ;  it  was  only  the 


294  TALES   OF  THE   TRAINS. 

'  mock  thiugs '  that  were  costly.  It  was  frightful  to  thiuk 
how  many  families  were  brought  to  ruin  by  cheap  articles ! 

"  '  I  suppose  it's  all  right,'  said  I  to  myself;  '  and  so  far 
as  I  am  concerned  I  '11  not  beggar  my  family  by  taking  to 
cheap  wines.  If  they  have  any  Burgundy  that  goes  so  high 
as  one  and  eightpence,  I  will  drink  two  bottles  every  day.' 

"Well,  sir,  at  last  came  the  time  that  I  was  to  set  out 
to  join  them ;  and  I  sailed  from  London  in  the  Princess 
Victoria,  with  my  passport  in  one  pocket,  and  a  written  code 
of  directions  in  the  other,  for  of  French  I  knew  not  one 
syllable.  It  was  not  that  my  knowledge  was  imperfect  or 
doubtful ;  but  I  was  as  ignorant  of  the  language  as  though 
it  was  a  dead  one. 

"  '  The  place  should  be  cheap,'  thought  I,  '  for  certainly  it 
has  no  charms  of  scenery  to  recommend  it,'  as  we  slowly 
wended  our  way  up  the  sluggish  Scheldt,  and  looked  with 
some  astonishment  at  the  land  the  Dutchmen  thought  worth 
fighting  for.  Arrived  at  Antwerp,  I  went  through  the 
ordeal  of  having  my  trunks  ransacked,  and  my  passport 
examined  by  some  warlike-looking  characters,  with  swords 
on.  They  said  many  things  to  me ;  but  I  made  no  reply, 
seeing  that  we  were  little  likely  to  benefit  by  each  other's  con- 
versation ;  and  at  last,  when  all  my  formalities  were  accom- 
plished, I  followed  a  concourse  of  people  who,  I  rightly  sup- 
posed, were  on  their  way  to  the  railroad. 

"It  is  a  plaguy  kind  of  thing  enough,  even  for  a  taciturn 
man,  not  to  speak  the  language  of  those  about  him  ;  how- 
ever, I  made  myself  tolerably  well  understood  at  this  station, 
by  pulling  out  a  handful  of  silver  coin,  and  repeating  the 
word  Brussels,  with  every  variety  of  accent  I  could  think  of. 
They  guessed  my  intentions,  and  in  acknowledgment  of  my 
inability  to  speak  one  word  of  French,  pulled  and  shoved  me 
along  till  I  reached  one  of  the  carriages.  At  last  a  horn 
blew,  another  replied  to  it,  a  confused  uproar  of  shouting 
succeeded,  like  what  occurs  on  board  a  merchant  ship  when 
getting  under  weigh,  and  off  jogged  the  train,  at  a  very 
honest  eight  miles  an  hour ;  but  with  such  a  bumping,  shak- 
ing, shivering,  and  rickety  motion,  it  was  more  like  travel- 
ling over  a  Yankee  corduroy  road  than  anything  else.  I 
don't  know  what  class  of  carriage  I  was  in,  but  the  pas- 
sengers were   all   white-faced,  smoky-looking  fellows,  with 


MR.   BLAKE   IN  BELGIUM.  295 

very  soiled  shirts  and  dirty  hands ;  with  them,  of  course,  I 
had  no  manner  of  intercourse.  I  was  just  thinking  whether 
I  should  n't  take  a  nap,  when  the  train  came  to  a  dead  stop, 
and  immediately  after,  the  whole  platform  was  covered  with 
queer-looking  fellows,  in  shovelled  hats,  and  long  petticoats 
like  women.  These  gentry  kept  bowing  and  saluting  each 
other  in  a  very  droll  fashion,  and  absorbed  my  attention, 
when  my  arm  was  pulled  by  one  of  the  guai-ds  of  the  line, 
while  he  said  something  to  me  in  French.  What  he  wanted, 
the  devil  himself  may  know ;  but  the  more  I  protested  that  I 
could  n't  speak,  the  louder  he  replied,  and  the  more  franti- 
cally he  gesticulated,  pointing  while  he  did  so  to  a  train  about 
to  start,  hard  by. 

"  'Oh!  that's  it,'  said  I  to  myself,  'we  change  coaches 
here  ; '  and  so  I  immediately  got  out,  and  made  the  best  of  my 
way  over  to  the  other  train.  I  had  scarcely  time  to  spare, 
for  away  it  went  at  about  the  same  lively  pace  as  the  last 
one.  After  travelling  about  an  hour  and  a  half  more,  I  be- 
gan to  look  out  for  Brussels,  and,  looking  at  my  code  of 
instructions,  I  suspected  I  could  not  be  far  off ;  nor  was  I 
much  mistaken  as  to  our  being  nigh  a  station,  for  the  speed 
■was  diminished  to  a  slow  trot,  and  then  a  walk,  after  a  mile  of 
which  we  crept  up  to  the  outside  of  a  large  town.  There 
was  no  nse  in  losing  time  in  asking  questions  ;  so  I  seized  my 
carpet-bag,  and  jumped  out,  and,  resisting  all  the  offers  of  the 
idle  vagabonds  to  carry  my  luggage,  I  forced  my  way  through 
the  crowd,  and  set  out  in  search  of  my  family.  I  soon  got 
into  an  inti-icate  web  of  narrow  streets,  with  shops  full  of 
wooden  shoes,  pipes,  and  blankets  of  all  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow  ;  and  after  walking  for  about  three-quarters  of  an 
hour,  began  to  doubt  whether  I  was  not  traversing  the  same 
identical  streets,  —  or  was  it  that  they  were  only  brothers  ? 
'Where's  the  Boulevard?'  thought  I,  'this  beautiful  place 
they  have  been  telling  me  of,  with  houses  on  one  side,  and 
trees  on  the  other;  I  can  see  nothing  like  it;'  and  so  I  sat 
down  on  my  carpet-bag,  and  began  to  ruminate  on  my 
situation. 

"' Well,  this  will  never  do,' said  I,  at  last;  'I  must  try 
and  ask  for  the  Boulevard  de  Regent.'  I  suppose  it  was  my 
bad  accent  that  amused  them,  for  every  fellow  I  stopped  put 
on  a  broad  grin  :  some  pointed  this  way,  and  some  pointed 


296  TALES   OF   THE   TRAINS. 

that ;  but  they  all  thought  it  a  high  joke.  I  spent  an  hour 
in  this  fashion,  and  then  gave  up  the  pursuit.  My  next 
thought  was  the  hotel  where  my  family  had  stopped  on  their 
arrival,  which  I  found,  on  examining  my  notes,  was  called 
the  'Hotel  de  SuMe.'  Here  I  was  more  lucky,  — every  one 
knew  that ;  and  after  traversing  a  couple  of  streets,  I  found 
myself  at  the  door  of  a  great  roomy  inn,  with  a  door  like 
a  coach-house  gate.  '  There  is  no  doubt  about  this,'  said  I ; 
for  the  words  '  Hotel  de  Suede  '  were  written  up  in  big  letters. 
I  made  signs  for  something  to  eat,  for  I  was  starving ;  but 
before  my  pantomime  was  well  begun,  the  whole  household 
set  off  in  search  of  a  waiter  who  could  speak  English. 

"  'Ha!  ha!  '  said  a  fellow  with  an  impudent  leer,  '  ros 
bif,  eh?' 

"  I  did  not  know  whether  it  was  meant  for  me,  or  the  bill 
of  fare,  but  I  said  '  Yes,  and  potatoes ; '  but  before  I  let 
him  go  in  search  of  the  dinner,  I  thought  1  would  ask  him 
a  few  words  about  my  family,  who  had  stojjped  at  the  hotel 
for  three  weeks. 

"  '  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Blake,'  said  I,  '  of  Castle  Blake?  ' 

"  '  Yees,  yees,  I  know  her  very  veil.' 

"  '  She  was  here  about  six  months  ago.' 

"  '  Yees,  yees ;  she  vas  here  sex  months.* 

"  '  No ;  not  for  six  months, —  three  weeks.* 

"  '  Yees ;  all  de  same.' 

"  '  Did  you  see  her  lately? ' 

"  '  Yees,  dis  mornin'.' 

"  '  This  morning  !  was  she  here  this  morning?  ' 

"'Yees;  she  come  here  vith  a  captain  of  Cuirassiera  — 
ah!  droll  fellow  dat!' 

"  'That's  a  lie  anyhow,'  said  I,  '  my  young  gentleman  ;  * 
and  with  that  I  planted  my  fist  between  his  eyes,  and  laid 
him  flat  on  the  floor.  Upon  my  conscience  you  would  have 
thought  it  was  murder  I  had  done  ;  never  was  there  such  yell- 
ing, and  screaming,  and  calling  for  the  police,  and  Heaven 
knows  what  besides ;  and  sure  enough,  they  marched  me  off 
between  a  tile  of  soldiers  to  a  place  like  a  guard-room,  where^ 
whatever  the  fellow  swore  against  me,  it  cost  me  a  five-pound 
note  before  I  got  free. 

"'Keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  j'oung  man,  about 
Mrs.  Blake,  anyway ;  for  by  the  hill  of  Maam,  if  I  hear  a 


MR.   BLAKE   IN  BELGIUM.  297 

word  about  the  Cuirassier,  I  '11  not  leave  a  whole  bone  in 
your  skin.' 

"  Well,  sir,  I  got  a  roast  chicken,  and  a  dish  of  water-cress, 
and  I  got  into  a  bed  about  four  feet  six  long ;  and  what  be- 
tween the  fleas  and  the  nightmare,  I  had  n't  a  pleasant  time 
of  it  till  morning. 

"  After  breakfast  I  opened  my  map  of  Brussels,  and,  send- 
ing for  the  landlord,  bid  him  point  with  his  finger  to  the 
place  I  was  in.  He  soon  understood  my  meaning  ;  but,  tak- 
ing me  by  the  arm,  he  led  me  to  the  wall,  on  which  was  a 
large  map  of  Belgium,  and  then,  my  jewel!  what  do  you 
think  I  discovered?  It  was  not  in  Brussels  I  was  at  all,  but 
in  Louvain  !  seventeen  miles  on  the  other  side  of  it !  Well, 
there  was  nothing  for  it  now  but  to  go  back ;  so  I  paid  my 
bill  and  set  off  down  to  the  station.  In  half  an  hour  the 
train  came  up,  and  when  they  asked  me  where  I  was  going, 
I  repeated  the  word  '  Brussels '  several  times  over.  This  did 
not  seem  to  satisfy  them ;  and  they  said  something  about 
my  being  an  Englishman. 

"  '  Yes,  yes, '  said  I,  '  Angleterre,  Angleterre. ' 

"  'Ah,  Angleterre! '  said  one,  who  looked  shrewder  than 
the  rest ;  and  as  if  at  once  comprehending  my  intentions,  he 
assisted  me  into  a  carriage,  and,  politely  taking  off  his  hat, 
made  me  a  salute  at  parting,  adding  something  about  a 
'  voyage.'  '  Well,  he  '11  be  a  cunning  fellow  that  sees  me 
leave  this  train  till  it  comes  to  its  destination,'  said  I;  'I'll 
not  be  shoved  out  by  any  confounded  guard,  as  I  was  yester- 
day. '  My  resolution  was  not  taken  in  vain,  for  just  at  the 
very  place  I  got  out,  on  the  day  before,  a  fellow  came,  and 
began  making  signs  for  me  to  change  to  another  train. 

"  'I'll  tell  you  what,'  says  I,  laying  hold  of  my  cotton 
umbrella  at  the  same  moment,  '  I  '11  make  a  Belgian  of  you, 
if  you  will  not  let  me  alone.  Out  of  this  place  I  '11  not  budge 
for  King  Leopold  himself.' 

"  And  though  he  looked  very  savage  for  a  few  minutes, 
the  way  I  handled  my  weapon  satisfied  him  that  I  was  not 
joking,  and  he  gave  it  up  for  a  bad  job,  and  left  me  at 
peace.  The  other  passengers  said  something,  I  suppose,  in 
explanation. 

"  '  Yes,'  said  I,  '  I  'm  an  Englishman,  or  an  Irishman, — 
it 's  all  one,  —  Angleterre.' 


298  TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 

"  *  Ah,  Angleterre ! '  said  three  or  four  in  a  breath ;  and 
the  words  seemed  to  act  like  a  charm  upon  them,  for  what- 
ever I  did  seemed  all  fair  and  reasonable  now.  I  kept  a 
sharp  look-out  for  Brussels ;  but  hour  after  hour  slipped  past, 
and  though  we  passed  several  large  towns,  there  was  no  sign 
of  it.  After  six  hours'  travelling,  an  old  gentleman  pulled 
out  his  watch,  and  made  signs  to  me  that  we  should  be  in  in 
less  than  ten  minutes  more ;  and  so  we  were,  and  a  droll- 
looking  place  it  was,  —  a  town  built  in  a  hole,  with  clay 
ditches  all  round  it,  to  keep  out  the  sea. 

' ' '  My  wife  never  said  a  word  about  this,'  said  I ;  '  she 
used  to  say  Castle  Blake  was  damp,  but  this  place  beats  it 
hollow.     Where's  the  Boulevards?'  said  I. 

"And  a  fellow  pointed  to  a  sod  bank,  where  a  sentry  was 
on  guard. 

"  '  If  it 's  a  joke  you  're  making  me,'  said  I,  '  you  mistake 
your  man ; '  and  I  aimed  a  blow  at  him  with  my  umbrella, 
that  sent  him  running  down  the  street  as  fast  as  his  wooden 
slippers  would  let  him. 

"  '  It  ought  to  be  cheap  here,  anyhow,'  said  I.  '  Faith, 
I  think  a  body  ought  to  be  paid  for  living  in  it ;  but  how  will 
I  find  out  the  family!' 

"  I  was  two  hours  walking  through  this  cursed  hole,  always 
coming  back  to  a  big  square,  with  a  fish-market,  no  matter 
which  way  I  turned ;  for  devil  a  one  could  tell  me  a  word 
about  Mrs.  Blake  or  Mrs.  Fitz.  either. 

"'Is  there  a  hotel?'  said  I;  and  the  moment  I  said  the 
word,  a  dozen  fellows  were  dragging  me  here  and  there,  till 
I  had  to  leave  two  or  three  of  them  sprawling  with  my 
umbrella,  and  give  myself  up  to  the  guidance  of  one  of  the 
number.  Well,  the  end  of  it  was  —  if  I  passed  the  last 
night  at  Louvain,  the  present  I  was  destined  to  pass  at 
Ostend ! 

"  I  left  this  mud  town,  by  the  early  train,  next  morning ; 
and  having  altered  my  tactics,  determined  now  to  be  guided 
by  any  one  who  would  take  the  trouble  to  direct  me,  —  neither 
resisting  nor  opposing.  To  be  brief,  for  my  story  has  grown 
too  lengthy,  I  changed  carriages  four  times,  at  each  place  there 
being  a  row  among  the  bystanders  which  party  should  decide 
my  destination,  —  the  excitement  once  running  so  high  that 
I  lost  one  skirt  of  my  coat,  and  had  my  cravat  pulled  off ;  and 


MR.  BLAKE  IN  BELGIUM. 


299 


the  end  of  this  was  that  I  arrived,  at  four  in  the  afternoon, 
at  Liege,  sixty-odd  miles  beyond  Brussels !  for,  somehow, 
these  intelligent  people  have  contrived  to  make  their  railroads 
all  converge  to  one  small  town  called  '  Malines  : '  so  that  you 
may  —  as  was  my  case  —  pass  within  twelve  miles  of  Brussels 
every  day,  and  yet  never  set  eyes  on  it. 


"  I  was  now  so  fatigued  by  travelling,  so  wearied  by  anxi- 
ety and  fever,  that  I  kept  my  bed  the  whole  of  the  following 
day,  dreaming,  whenever  I  did  sleep,  of  everlasting  railroads, 
and  starting  out  of  my  slumbers  to  wonder  if  I  should  ever 
see  my  family  again.  I  set  out  once  more,  and  for  the  last 
time,  —  my  mind  being  made  up,  that  if  I  failed  now,  I  'd 
take  up  my  abode  wherever  chance  might  drop  me,  and  write 
to  my  wife  to  come  and  look  for  me.     The  bright  thought 


300 


TALES  OF  THE  TRAINS. 


flashed  on  me,  as  I  watched  the  man  in  the  baggage  office 
labelling  the  baggage,  and,  seizing  one  of  the  gummed  labels 
marked  '  Bruxelles,'  I  took  oflf  my  coat,  and  stuck  it  between 
the  shoulders.  This  done,  I  resumed  my  garment,  and  took 
my  place. 

' '  The  plan  succeeded  ;  the  only  inconvenience  I  sustained 
being  the  necessity  I  was  under  of  showing  my  way-bill 
whenever  they  questioned  me,  and  making  a  pirouette  to  the 
company,  —  a  performance  that  kept  the  passengers  in  broad 
grins  for  the  whole  day's  journey.  So  you  see,  gentlemen,  they 
may  talk  as  they  please  about  the  line  from  Antwerp  to 
Brussels,  and  the  time  being  only  one  hour  fifteen  minutes  ;  but 
take  my  word  for  it,  that  even  —  if  you  don't  take  a  day's 
rest  —  it's  a  good  three  days'  and  a  half,  and  costs  eighty- 
five  francs,  and  some  coppers  besides." 

"The  economy  of  the  Continent,  then,  did  not  fulfil  your 
expectations  ?  " 

-'  Economy  is  it?  "  echoed  Mr.  Blake,  with  a  groan  ;  "for 
the  matter  of  that,  my  dear,  it  was  like  my  own  journey,  —  a 
mighty  roundabout  way  of  gaining  your  object,  and  "  —  here 
he  sighed  heavily —  "  nothing  to  boast  of  when  you  got  it." 


1/  OF   THE  ^ 

(    UNIVERSITY 

OF 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN     INITIAL    FINE      OF     25     CENTS 

WrLL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
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WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


DtC     2    193. 


DEC 


fm. 


\9%^i 


5B?tl 


-K 


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:^^ 


.^" 


r> 


M    7'64-iopiii 
AU6  9-196S7  6 


11 '67 -5  P^ 


LD  21-50m-8,-32 


193049 


VV5LyA.r-^J~^<_ 


»  •     •      •  »  «  ■    -^ 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN     INITIAL    FINE      OF     25     CENTS 

WILU  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


DtC     2   193J       ftUGll't/  '^P^* 


DEC 


m. 


ig^ep' 


5S?tl 


SIP  ^'^  wia 


N^ 


^/    Re:c'dld 

M    7'64-iopn, 
AUG  9 -1966  7  6 


LD  21-50hi-8,'32 


193049 


VaJL/^^t-^J^^s^ 


